


Harry Potter and The Alchemist's Cell

by Th3Alchemist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-02-19 13:16:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 176,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22878298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Th3Alchemist/pseuds/Th3Alchemist
Summary: An AU sixth year story. An emotionally damaged Harry spends the Summer after his fifth year healing with Hermione. Their relationship deepens and as threats come from all sides during a turbulent school year, they come to realise they can only rely on each other.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 147
Kudos: 360





	1. The Coldest Summer

Chapter 1: The Coldest Summer

Not for the first time, the night was a restless one for Harry Potter. His bedroom window was flung open wide, hoping against hope to entice a non-existent breeze into his stifling room. The heat wave engulfing Britain had reached Little Whingeing only a few days before and the solid, scorching humidity was now almost unbearable. Privet Drive was still the same; the large square houses and the pristine gleaming cars the only things unaffected by the arid heat. The soaring temperatures had made Uncle Vernon more volatile than ever, but for once he wasn't venting on Harry.

For Harry was now being treated as the usurper in Privet Drive in the worst form he could remember. He was being completely...and _utterly_...ignored.

It was as if he didn't exist at all. Vernon, Petunia and Dudley simply walked past him as if he wasn't there, all angered into silence by the threats laid down by Mad-Eye Moody and others at King's Cross. Harry rather expected this to happen, and in many ways thought it would be an improvement to the usual abuse he suffered during the Summer holidays. But, somehow, the silent treatment was worse.

Harry was used to being blamed for most of Uncle Vernon's problems. He needed to vent his anger several times during the day and shouting at Harry was usually his preferred method. If it wasn't the heat then it was work problems (Uncle Vernon couldn't sell drills if Harry was on his mind), or miscreants in the street (all the scruffy people in the world were Harry's best mates according to Uncle Vernon), or the hole in the Ozone Layer, which Uncle Vernon swore was caused by Harry's abnormality.

But now, there was nothing. Harry wasn't even worth insulting. It added to his sense of dark anguish, which had plagued him since the end of the school year. Depression had crept upon him that first night back, as he sat alone in the bland, unfurnished bedroom, sick with guilt and dark memories, his stomach roiling through lack of food.

For the Dursleys were even ignoring him during meal times.

But in the dark of his bedroom, even his starvation didn't matter. Nothing much did these days. If Harry's mind wasn't drawn to the public return of Lord Voldemort, then he was back in the Department of Mysteries, staring through the dark Veil. The very thought of Sirius made his insides clench. He curled up against the agony of it, as if trying to turn his back on his pain. But it was no use; no matter which way he turned, or whatever he did, the ghost of his Godfather followed him both night and day.

It was during the long, lonely night hours, cooped up in his bay window, staring down Privet Drive, that Harry felt the gut-pinching loss of Sirius the strongest. He could imagine what Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia would say if he tried talking to them; the thought was almost comical. He had tried to say something in his letters to Ron but couldn't quite word it. Hermione was on holiday, and he didn't want to ruin another period of time with her parents by saying the things on his mind. In her last letter she seemed to know what Harry was thinking; she had a way of doing that.

_'...things must be hard, there on your own...I doubt Ron would be much help...talk to me if you need to...'_

And, at times like this, he did need to. She'd be the best person, maybe the only person he could open up to. She'd let him rant, let him scream, just sit with him quietly if that's what he wanted. And she'd be the only one who wouldn't laugh if the emotion overcame him and he was reduced to angry tears. But she wasn't here, and after nearly a fortnight of solitude, the lonely frustration was borderline unbearable.

Even Hedwig wasn't here. He couldn't blame her. Harry knew that he'd be wretched company just now. But with his only link to the magical world absent he felt more alone than ever. But he was bitterly pleased that Hedwig was far away from him, convinced as he was now that his affection was a curse. Those he bestowed this dubious honour upon inevitable suffered, and more often than not ended up dead.

Which was why he was now firmly of the opinion that he should be alone. To know him was just too great a risk.

Lack of sleep made Harry more and more apathetic as the days went on. The stifling heat, coupled with disturbed dreams on the few occasions he actually managed a few non-waking hours, served to heighten his already drawn and skinny look. Dudley, who was rarely found to miss out on such opportunities, took full advantage of Harry's dishevelled manner.

"Can't sleep?" Dudley taunted maliciously one morning. "You look like crap."

"What are you on about?" Harry hissed back, keeping his voice low.

"I heard you last night," said Dudley, smirking. "Last year it was, _'Oh Cedric! Don't be dead!_ ' and this time its, _'Sirius! Sirius! Come back. I need you! I'm coming to get you!'_ What's the matter? Another one of your boyfriend's dumped you? Maybe you should try being _straight_ , or is that too _normal_ for a freak like you? And what's a 'herm-irony'? Some sort of weird beast that you're knocking off, or something? I hear you whining about losing that half the time as well. Crying like a sodding girl about it, too. "

"You keep your mouth shut!" spat Harry.

"Herm-irony! Wake Up! Wake up, Herm-irony!" aped Dudley in a girly voice, before fawning about in mock tears. "What a big baby!"

"Well I didn't hear you complaining when I saved your fat arse from the Dementors last year," Harry hissed angrily.

Dudley paled at the memory. "Mum said you _brought_ them there. That it was your fault."

"Maybe it was," said Harry. "And if you don't get out of my way, maybe I'll call them back!"

And Harry barged past Dudley, rapping him hard on the head as he did so. He thought it best to get out of the house as quickly as he could. He went to his bedroom, pulled on his trainers and bolted down the stairs just as Dudley emerged from his own room, swinging his knobbly Smeltings stick in Harry's direction.

He didn't have to think where he was going, or even to look, really. Harry knew this path well, he escaped to it most days. He might as well have been haunting it. He felt like a ghost sometimes. Formless, listless, with only his plagued thoughts for company and substance. He would stay out for hours, mindless of his surroundings, simply trying to disappear from the world.

This had been a Summer harder than any other. Ten days now of such dark and cold that Harry felt numb. The outside heat barely touched him. It belonged in some other universe, one where Sirius was alive and there was still a reason for the struggle. Harry could barely remember it now. All he could think about was the darkness closing in on him, and the Prophecy that burdened him.

What did it feel like to commit a murder? Harry found himself pondering this question a lot. He had to, it was his future. Unless he intended to die, which, he ashamedly admitted in his lowest moments, was an idea that had its merits. He would see Sirius again, and his parents. It wouldn't be all bad. It might not even hurt if it was quick. Not like the Cruciatus. Those wounds had never completely healed. Death would be preferable to another dose of that torture.

Harry wondered if the pain of murder would ever pass. Even if it was Voldemort. Life was life, wasn't it? Would he be able to cope with it, taking Voldemort's life and living with it for the rest of his own? Everyone would expect him to, he knew that. This big, mythical hero the world had built him into. They were looking to him already. The _Daily Prophet_ wasn't so much a newspaper anymore as a propaganda vehicle for his legend. One he had no control over. It was like Ginny Weasley made parchment. If it wasn't for the snippets of news from the Wizarding World, Harry would have scrapped his subscription after the first few days.

But he hadn't. He still needed to feel connected. Ron was the only one who wrote regularly, but his letters were scant and short. He'd never been much for epic prose. Harry accepted that his writings were probably subject to intense scrutiny and censorship, but it did nothing but add to his well of loneliness.

This was further deepened by Hermione's even briefer interactions. He felt her absence keenly, far more than during any other Summer. He knew the cause. As much as he was loathe to confront it, the memory haunted him easily as much as Sirius and his graceful arc through the Veil. He dreamt of it often, Dudley had at least gotten that part right. That flash of purple, the surprised gasp, the crumple of her body.

And those seconds where his entire world shattered beyond repair.

He sat on a bench near the playground and buried his face in his hands as the recollections surged through him again. He couldn't look at it, the image of Hermione cradled in his lap, possibly dead. Nothing, ever in his existence, had frightened him so much, had reduced him to a static, mindless state. He shivered uncontrollably at even this most basic of thoughts about that night. It was weeks ago, but it wasn't getting any easier.

And he hadn't even apologised for it. He'd been too distraught about Sirius to even ask how she was getting on in her recovery. Even now he could see the line of potion bottles, all ten of them, at her bedside. And he'd not asked about her condition, even asked how the potions tasted to take her mind off it. The vision made his insides twist uncomfortably. It was the equal of his anguish over Sirius, sometimes more so. The potency of it startled him sometimes.

Then it would strike him just how much he missed her. Much more than he had any Summer since they'd met. Even after last year, when he was out of his mind in worry about her, about everyone, with Voldemort's return. Even when he was balled up in agony on his bedroom floor, nursing the nerve-searing after effects of his Cruciatus torture, even when he was plagued with the worst, most vivid visions of Cedric's death, there was still this niggle about Hermione. The shy kiss she'd placed on his cheek at Kings Cross lingered against his skin, a gentle reminder that, through all the darkness, he was still loved somewhere. He was being thought about by someone who _cared._

He'd never found the words to tell her what that meant to him, how it had helped him survive that Summer. He was fully intending to when he saw her again, then Dudley had been attacked by a Dementor, Harry had been up in front of the Wizengamot, then overlooked for the Prefect's position. The disappointed look on Hermione's face haunted him for weeks and the reality of the regret he felt was something he'd never fully looked in the face.

He'd let her down, not been good enough. Even though it was Dumbledore's fault, Harry couldn't shake his own sense of disappointment at having failed Hermione. He had never noticed before just how much he wanted to measure up for her, it was a stark realisation.

It returned to him now, spiralling his mood into the parched earth beneath his feet. Why did he feel these things? Where had this restless necessity for Hermione come from? Had it always been there, or had his swell of guilt for nearly getting her killed simply stirred an even more powerful need to keep her close, to protect her? He wasn't sure of that, aside from the urgent desire to have her in his sight, within reach. But she was so far away. Harry hated the distance between them. It caused a dull ache all through him. He didn't know how much longer he could stand it.

It was growing dusky by the time Harry made his way back to Privet Drive. There would be hell to pay when he got back in. Hitting Dudley was as bad as an Unforgivable Curse in the eyes of the Dursley's. It was worth several days of locks on the kitchen door. Harry had lost at least half a stone as it was. He only ever got scraps from his Aunt's table, but he wasn't about to beg for anything more. He would just have to suck it up as always, and sneak to the kitchens once everyone was in bed.

But right now, the Dursleys were still in the living room. Harry heard the low buzz of the television as he quietly closed the front door. He moved silently along the carpeted floor and peered through the gap in the living room door. They were watching a programme about animals.

"It's just bad stock, you see," Vernon announced sagely. "If the horse is lame, they put a bullet in it. No messing about there. Shame your sister wasn't a horse, could have used a bullet on that bleedin' menace she spawned. Maybe even a whole magazine just to be sure."

Vernon chortled at his own comment. Harry felt his insides roil in fury. He clenched his fists in his pockets as he mounted the stairs, ignoring the carrying voice of his Uncle.

"Just like his father, Marge was right about that. Maybe it is the breeding..."

 _"Ignore it, Harry,"_ said a Hermione-like voice in his head as a car pulled up in the street and the door slammed. _"He's goading you...wants a response...it's Number Four...that's the one..."_

That was a strange thing to say. It made Harry pause on the next step. Voices were coming from outside now, from on the lawn maybe. It was a woman's this time, a voice that Harry didn't recognise.

"Are you sure it's the right street, honey? Maybe it's the next one."

"No, it's this one. Privet Drive. There's the sign, look!"

 _It couldn't be!_ It was Hermione's voice again, but not in his head this time. Harry stared in a sort of dazed wonder out of the long, open window on the staircase and, sure enough, there she was. Outside, with her hands on her hips at the edge of the garden. Harry was so startled by her appearance that he forgot his legs could move if he wanted them to. A shiny blue car was parked on the road, its engine idling, with two occupants sat in the front seats.

"If you are sure, honey, go and ring the bell," said the woman again. She was sitting in the car.

Hermione was frowning. "There's magic here. I can feel it." She reached out into the air in front of her, and _touched_ something that Harry couldn't see. The air shimmered as she did so. Harry could only watch as Hermione traced the protective enchantment that covered the entire boundary of the garden.

"You will not be able to cross the barrier, Miss Granger."

Harry gasped at the new voice, and his jaw-dropped as Professor Dumbledore stepped out of thin air to stand in front of Hermione.

"Professor! What are _you_ doing here?" Hermione asked, her voice startled.

"The same as _you_ , I imagine," Dumbledore replied lightly. "Trying to protect Harry."

"How do you know I'm here for _that_?" asked Hermione, her suspicion evident. "How did you know I was here at all?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "I suppose it's a little much to ask that an old man be allowed to keep his secrets?"

Hermione huffed. "I think you've kept enough, sir."

Harry balled at Hermione's brassiness. But Dumbledore sagged in agreement.

"I happen to concur with you, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore sadly. "Though my intentions were honourable. Protecting Harry has always been my singular concern. As, I see, it is yours. To trigger my wards...to the point that you almost _broke through_...that shows admirable concern for your friend."

"For my _best_ friend, Professor," Hermione corrected. "And it's that _concern_ that has brought me here tonight. I don't intend to leave Harry here a moment longer."

Harry's felt his heart swoop at Hermione's words. He still couldn't move, and these new flutters in his chest made him less kinetic than ever. All he could do was listen.

"May I ask what, _specifically,_ has triggered this restless urgency, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore was asking.

"Hedwig," Hermione replied simply. "She came to me two days after I got back home. She was depressed and wanted to stay with me, I knew something was wrong. She always reflects Harry's mood. And she was losing weight. Then, one night after she went hunting, she returned with a crumpled up note. I think she'd stolen it from Harry's waste paper basket. It just said ' _neither can live while the other survives'_...it means Harry and Voldemort, doesn't it? That's what was in the Prophecy?"

"You really are the brightest witch of our age," said Dumbledore, reverently.

Hermione gasped angrily. " _Professor_! Shame on you! How could you tell Harry something like that...then just leave him to his horrendous family all Summer... _alone_?"

"My reasons are complex," Dumbledore explained. "Harry is protected here."

"Protection is a relative thing," Hermione scoffed. "Especially if he is suffering as I think he is. I mean - _you're_ here, tonight. What are you protecting him from?"

"I came to see who had triggered my wards," said Dumbledore. "It takes immense power to pose a risk to them. I've been watching you the past few minutes. You have been trying to penetrate the barrier... _non-verbally_?"

Hermione huffed. "I had a glance at next year's curriculum. I knew this was part of it. I visited Flourish and Blotts to take out some preparatory reading. It's not spell casting. I'm not breaking any rules, Professor. I checked the wording of the Restrictions for the Use of Underage Magic."

"Nevertheless, it is mightily impressive," said Dumbledore. "So, now you are here, what do you intend to do?"

"Get to Harry and see how he is," said Hermione. "Then take him away from here so I can look after him. Someone needs to...and I think he needs _me."_

Harry felt his heart come to life at that. He stepped back, his breath catching heavy in his chest. For the first time in weeks, the anger and grief that had consumed him had lifted a little. Then the doorbell chimed and Harry could only stare down stupidly as Dudley yanked it open without realising he was there.

"Who are you?" Dudley spat.

"What lovely manners," said Hermione, scrunching her nose. "Is Har - HARRY! There you are!"

Harry leapt the last few stairs as Hermione rushed into the house, uninvited, to meet him. She clobbered him with bear hug, as his face got lost in the expanse of her bushy hair.

"Oh Harry, how are you? What am I saying...you must be _awful_. But...what's happened to you...you've lost so much _weight!_ "

Hermione pulled away and looked him up and down, before shooting dagger-laden looks at the Dursleys, who had now gathered in the hall.

"What have you been _doing_ to him!" Hermione squealed angrily. "Have you been _starving_ him?"

Harry felt a swell of emotion churn in his gut. The idea that Hermione felt so impelled to stand there and defend him was truly humbling. He wanted to tell her so, but her abrupt appearance in his day had robbed him of the ability to speak.

"Who are you? And what do you mean barging into my house? Uninvited I might add."

Vernon Dursley had found his voice at last.

"I'm Hermione Granger, a friend of Harry's from school," said Hermione firmly. She fixed Vernon with such a fierce stare that he seemed taken aback.

"You're one of those - those - _things!_ " Vernon hissed. He seemed unable to muster the will to say the word _witch_. He scowled at Harry, his face reddening. "How dare you give our address away to another of your _freaks_?"

"I assure you neither Harry nor Hermione are _freaks,_ Mr Dursley," said Dumbledore, stepping over the threshold.

His words were light, but as his eyes flicked from Harry's ragged frame and the oversized clothes hanging from him, to the Dursleys gathered nearby, a palpable anger rolled off him furious waves. Vernon cowered away from it and even Harry felt his skin tingle as Dumbledore's magic swelled in the narrow hall space. He turned to Petunia.

"I set you a simple task," said Dumbledore. "Take care of your sister's child. I warned you last Summer that you were failing to heed my words. Your punishment for this dereliction of duty will be extreme."

"Punishment?" asked Vernon, finding a shot of courage from somewhere. "How dare you come into my home and threaten my family!"

"Oh, my dear Mr Dursley," said Dumbledore gently. "It is not _I_ who poses the threat. I do not engage in the torture of our non-Magical kin. Unfortunately, a Dark Power is on the rise in Great Britain which _does_. And its leader - one of the most dangerous and feared wizards to ever live - has a blood vendetta against the very boy I have asked you protect.

"My toll for this...your _payment,_ if you like...is for you to have been kept as safe as we can possibly make you, in exchange for your providing safety for _Harry_. A fair bargain, I reasoned, as the evil wizard - the same one who slaughtered your sister and her husband, Mrs Dursley - knows all about you. He has been searching for you, to locate and murder Harry. My protections have prevented that.

"But, when Harry leaves tonight, those protections leave with him. And we _leave you_ to your fate...however horrific that may be."

Petunia squeaked, Vernon made similar pitiful noises of distress. "You...you cannot do this...how can we protect ourselves against _magic_?"

Dumbledore frowned at him. "Have you not always decried our arts, shunned our world? To expect us to provide you with solutions now is, frankly, a comical request. I suggest you pack up and run. And keep running. For you represent the only genuine blood link to Harry in the world. That makes you a high-value target. Lord Voldemort may never stop hunting you."

Vernon roared and kicked into high gear. He grabbed Petunia by the arm and hauled her upstairs, yelling at Dudley to follow after them. Five minutes of frantic crashes and shouting followed, before the Dursleys re-emerged with overstuffed suitcases in tow. They thundered past Harry without so much as a glance goodbye, heaved their cases into the car, then screeched out of the driveway and sped off into the night.

Harry watched it all with a sort of mind-numbed shock. Then a question came to him. He turned to Dumbledore.

"I'm leaving?"

"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore confirmed. "It is for the best. The protections on this house were suitable when the threat was vague and ephemeral. But now, you are perhaps the principle target of an enemy we are engaged in open warfare with."

"Open war?" asked Harry, aghast.

"Indeed," Dumbledore sighed. "It has been barely a fortnight since Voldemort's public return, but already there have been a number of attacks, disappearances as people return to his banner, and the Dementors of Azkaban have committed themselves to Voldemort's service. We have been slow to react, I will not wait for him to come for you, Harry, as we both know he surely will."

"Then where am I going? I don't want to go to The Burrow, to put the Weasleys at risk."

Dumbledore's eyes darkened in fury. "No, Harry, The Burrow is out of the question. We have reason to believe that Percy Weasley has continued his defection to the Dark Side, taking his older brother Charles with him."

"His _defection_?" Hermione hissed. "What's happened?"

"The details are secret," said Dumbledore.

"No, they're not," said Harry firmly. He looked at Hermione who returned his gaze in a show of fierce support. "I have suffered under enough secrets. I wont tolerate any more. If you expect me to go along with anything you have planned, I want honesty and clarity. And Hermione will be closer to me than anyone else. I will share everything with her."

Hermione turned her eyes down and blushed at Harry's words. Dumbledore's eyes danced between them, glittering vividly.

"That is a choice I whole-heartedly encourage, Harry," said Dumbledore. "And you are right, I have been too guarded with you. This is your fight, whether I wish to protect you from it or not. Very well, I will be honest with you. Percy Weasley is ambitious. More than that, he is ashamed of his family, of their descent into poverty and ridicule. He is a prime candidate to be seduced by the lure of easy power that Voldemort offers.

"And the offer was simple - turn your brother, Charlie. Either through converting him to Voldemort's ideology, or subjugating him through magical force. The reason being that Voldemort needs an expert in dragon-control to train a division of assault-riders for his army. Charlie is renown for his skills in the area. Percy has succeeded, though we have no way of knowing how. He stands to be highly rewarded, though how this takes shape is yet a mystery to us."

Harry shuddered where he stood.

"And we have no idea how far his treachery goes," Dumbledore went on. "His Dark influence could reach deep into the recesses of his family. Molly and Arthur are devastated, of course, but blinded by loyalty. They refuse to let us test them or the other children for magical manipulation, choosing to believe instead that Percy is the one being controlled. Our evidence is beyond contestation, but a parents' love is protective to the extreme.

"So no, Harry, I would not send you to The Burrow unless I had no other choice. You may not be safe there."

Hermione gasped in shock. "You think...Harry could be _in danger_ from the Weasleys?"

"We cannot rule it out," said Dumbledore. "And we must be vigilant against any potential threats."

"So, where _am_ I going?" asked Harry again.

"I do not believe _I_ am the one who can answer that question, Harry," said Dumbledore, inclining his head towards Hermione. She shifted nervously and stepped forwards.

"I've been looking into defensive magic, Harry," said Hermione quietly. "Protective spells and enchantments. They can form powerful _wards_ \- barriers to harmful intent. I...I _think_ I've come up with combinations that will make you safe enough...at least _hidden_. Professor Dumbledore will have to check them, of course, maybe even add to them. But they are powered by _my_ intent, my magic. I think they should hold."

"Where are they?" asked Harry, enthusiastically. After weeks of feeling exposed, the idea of security was very appealing.

"They...they're at _my house_ , Harry."

Harry just stared at her a moment. The bubble of hope that had risen in his chest fell again as though suddenly coated in lead. Hermione clocked his crestfallen expression, the surge in his anxiety.

"You will come, wont you?" she asked. It didn't seem to have occurred to her that he'd refuse the offer, and her spirits seemed to nosedive with his own.

"I can't," Harry whispered. "It's too dangerous. For you...for your parents. Thank you for the thought, Hermione, but I can't."

"Harry," said Hermione stoutly, stepping close and taking his hand in both her own. "I've thrown up these barriers to protect us all. I'm as likely to be targeted as your Aunt and Uncle, and my parents might be used to get to _me_. It's no secret we're close friends. Besides, this is a two-way thing - if anything does happen, I would be seriously outnumbered...I need _you_ to help protect _us_."

Harry's heart slammed into his throat. The idea of Hermione in danger stirred a powerful, protective imperative in him. For a moment, he was light-headed at its potency, but he would attend to that later.

"Have you discussed it with your parents?" asked Harry.

"It was they who _suggested_ it."

Harry gawked at Hermione. "Your parents suggested I come and stay with you?"

"Well, not you _specifically,_ " said Hermione, then she flushed again. "But when I said how poorly you were being treated they were outraged. They said we could look after you, and you'd be able to help defend us if it came to it."

"And they'd be okay with a strange boy staying in their house all Summer?"

Hermione laughed. "You are _not_ a strange boy! Well, okay, maybe you are a _little_ strange, but they know all about you. I've told them...well, things. They feel like they practically know you at this point."

Hermione turned her eyes shyly away again. Harry, to his own surprise, found his usual abhorrence to being talked about strangely absent. If Hermione had chosen to confide in her parents about his life and their friendship, he found he didn't mind it. It was a startling realisation.

"It's not just that," said Harry, slightly ashamed. He flicked a look at Dumbledore who met his eyes and understanding flared in a flash of Occlumency. The old Headmaster became suddenly fascinated by the hanging begonias on the front porch. Harry turned back to Hermione. "I...I'm not in the best way. Everything that's happened...it's been getting to me. I've been...having trouble...at night, you know. I don't want to disturb your home with my own internal grief."

"Oh, _Harry_ ," Hermione whined in sympathy. "That's all the more reason for you to come with me. I'd like to try and help if I can. You shouldn't be suffering alone."

Harry couldn't help it. He drew Hermione into an unexpected hug. He'd needed it, far more than he'd known until he was receiving it. The well of his loneliness went deeper than he previous appreciated. He wanted nothing more, he realised, than to take Hermione up on her offer. But he had to be sure.

"I don't want to burden you," he moaned quietly.

"Harry - you've never been a burden," Hermione breathed in reply. "You're my best friend...and you're in pain...let me help."

Harry looked deep into her chestnut eyes, sighed against his own neediness, then bowed his head in agreement. He felt Hermione step close again, easing his head gently to her shoulder. She was so warm, so protective. He gave himself into her care. He knew he should feel selfish for accepting her offer, but he didn't have it in him. He needed her too much, he would have to analyse that in the future.

But, for now, he just let her look after him.

"Let's go and help you pack," said Hermione softly, as they separated.

"No need, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore, joining them again. "I have a suggestion to further assist your defensive efforts, if I may?"

"Of course," said Hermione.

Dumbledore held out his hand. "Dobby!"

The house-elf popped into view under his palm. Harry noticed then that Dumbledore's hand was blackened and withered, as though it had been seriously burnt. An ancient gold ring with a deep red jewel stood out starkly against the charred flesh. Harry opened his mouth to ask the obvious question, but then Dumbledore whipped his hand from sight. The very action seemed to catch Harry's words in his throat.

"Harry Potter!" Dobby squealed. He raced to Harry's leg and clutched at it powerfully.

"Hello, Dobby," said Harry, somewhat awkwardly. He turned to Dumbledore. " _This_ is your suggestion?"

"No, more of a _solution_...to a problem we have had for some time," said Dumbledore.

Hermione huffed next to him. "Dobby should not be seen as a _problem_. What is _wrong_ with the culture towards sentient magical creatures in this country! I -"

Dumbledore held up his hand. Hermione was instantly silenced and Harry suspected non-verbal magic may have been at work.

"The problem is not with Dobby, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore patiently. "It is, in fact, with _you_."

"M-me?" Hermione stammered. "What have I done?"

"Nothing, besides being too kind-hearted for your own good, and for that of the house-elf community," Dumbledore went on. "Your campaign for elfish welfare is admirable, and needed, but also naive. You are assuming the way magic works for humans is the same for magical creatures."

"And it isn't?"

"No. It is not," Dumbledore explained. "And for house-elves, it is fundamentally different. To be able to summon a house-elf requires a remarkably powerful connection between wizard and elf. Their own magic could resist a summons if they so chose. House-elves make a conscious decision to bind themselves to a family or person or place.

"The relationship is a symbiosis. All magical beings renew themselves through their surroundings - unicorns only inhabit certain types of magical forest, dragons build their dens with elemental materials of fire and frost, that sort of thing. But humans largely destroyed elfish habitats with our rapid expansion in the world. Elves offered themselves into a mutual beneficial union with humans...in order to survive and preserve the species."

"To free an elf is to commit it to die," Dobby added darkly.

"But _you_ didn't die," Harry pointed out.

"No, but Dobby had already reached out and made the beginnings of another fundamental union," said Dumbledore. "With _you_."

"By freeing Dobby from evil Malfoy's, Mister Harry Potter performed an act of kindness," said Dobby. "This be enough to join us together."

"Then you came to Hogwarts," said Hermione. "And Harry's magic flows around the school when he's there...renewing you?"

"Miss Hermione Granger be very clever," said Dobby. "But also very silly."

Hermione frowned. "Silly?"

Harry felt a bizarre urge to laugh at Hermione's cross expression. It was like medicine...he hadn't felt like laughing in _ages_. It lightened his mood no end.

"Making clothes for elves is very nice," Dobby went on. "But Miss Hermione Granger not linked to elves, so cannot free them from the link to Hogwarts. Elves be choosing to be there, Miss. Dobby was born into slavery with the Malfoy's and was desperate to escape, so invoked the Freeing Spell when ugly Lucius gave Dobby a sock. But it only worked as it was Mister Harry Potter's sock - Dobby recognised him as new master, so transferred loyalty to him."

"So what would have happened if Harry hadn't been there, and Lucius had just freed you?" asked Hermione, still frowning.

Dobby's ears sagged. "Dobby would have sickened and died, Miss. Like poor old Winky."

Hermione gasped. "Winky is _dead_?"

"Yes, Miss," said Dobby sadly. "She was released because her wizard was angry, thought she'd been bad. But Winky not want to join with new master. So she died a few months ago."

"Would that have happened to _all_ the elves...if I'd somehow managed to free them?" asked Hermione aghast.

Dobby nodded. "If an elf loses a joining, it damages them. Hard to form new link then. Some would have managed, but the younger ones wouldn't be strong enough."

"Sweet Merlin!" Hermione gasped. "I'm so sorry, Dobby. Will you tell the others for me?"

"Other elves not be angry," said Dobby simply. "They knows Miss Hermione Granger mean well, and we make beds for little ones out of the bobbly hats."

"But this is precisely why I feel it would benefit you to take Dobby with you," Dumbledore added. "Your desire to help is noble, Miss Granger, but understanding _how_ to help will certainly give focus to your efforts."

"Dobby will help Miss Hermione Granger to _see_ ," said Dobby energetically. "And can look after Master Harry Potter, too."

"It's a lot to ask," said Harry. "I can't ask Dobby to be our slave."

"Dobby want only to be Master Harry Potter's friend," said the elf, shyly.

Harry looked at him, confused. "You already _are_ my friend, Dobby."

Dobby curled his head up, huge tears welling in his eyes. "Does Master Harry Potter really mean that?"

"Of course I do!" Harry replied. Dobby exploded into peals of wet tears and clung again to Harry's thigh. He patted his head awkwardly. "Come on, Dobby...er...please don't cry."

"Master Harry Potter be _worried_ about Dobby!" the elf wailed. "He be the bestest and bravest and most honourable wizard there is!"

Harry looked at Hermione for support. She was just smiling oddly at him. He felt his skin tingle under her gaze.

"Yes, he really is," said Hermione, sincerely.

"Then can Dobby come to Miss Hermione Granger's house with yous?"

"Of course you can," said Hermione. "The more friends to help look after us the better."

Dobby flew from Harry's leg and locked on to Hermione's instead. Harry huffed. "Replaced...just like that."

"Don't get all pouty, it doesn't suit you," Hermione laughed. She turned her eyes down. "Dobby - would you please pack Harry's things and take them to my house? Do you know how to get there?"

Dobby nodded vigorously. "Miss Hermione Granger have special link to her home. Dobby use it to find. I takes care of everything now."

And with that he popped away. Harry turned to the others. His voice was small and cracked when he spoke.

"Thank you...both of you...for doing this," he said. "For going to all this trouble."

"Trouble, my boy, seems to be the order of the day," said Dumbledore heavily. "We have been passive against it for far too long. I am as guilty as anyone on that score. Age is finally catching up to me, but we must apply ourselves now."

"I want to apply myself," said Harry staunchly. "Just tell me how."

"Your first task is to begin the healing process," said Dumbledore firmly. "Miss Granger is right, and I rather feel you can have no better nurse than her at this point, assuming she is willing."

Hermione snorted, as though affronted that Dumbledore felt the need to even question it. "Of course I'm willing!"

Harry's breathing caught again at her ferociousness. "If...you're sure. I know I'm asking a lot."

"And I'm offering more!" she fired back. "I care about you, Harry. If I could _take_ your suffering, I would. But I can't. What I can do is to be here for you, so here I am."

"Thank you," Harry managed to say, amazingly as his entire body was oddly trembling.

"The weeks ahead will be difficult, for you both," said Dumbledore, warningly. "Ordinarily I'd suggest professional help...but the depth of your obvious affection for one another...it may be a more potent tonic than any potion or spell."

Harry and Hermione shared embarrassed glances, then found it near impossible to meet the other's eye.

"We all face a difficult future," Dumbledore continued. "When you return to Hogwarts, Harry, things will have to change."

"What things?"

"Your curriculum, your entire life," said Dumbledore. "I know you hate it, but to be Harry Potter is to have an extraordinary life. I have resisted it on your behalf. It was selfish and misguided of me. I knew of your destiny, I possess the tools to assist you in the task. But I have shied away from sharing them with you.

"Please, forgive me...give me the chance to make amends."

Harry blushed under his mentor's heartfelt pleas. "You...you don't have to apologise, sir."

"Oh I do, and for far more than you realise, Harry," said Dumbledore. "But I am offering myself to your service. Let me show you the wizard you can become. Let us drop the boundaries and give Tom Riddle something to have nightmares about."

Something stirred in Harry's chest, wild and feral. It wasn't hatred or vengeance...but the promise of a reckoning.

"How, sir?"

"Training, tutoring, from myself and others personally," said Dumbledore. "You will abandon your studies if they will not help you in the short term. Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology - all worthy subjects, but useless to you right now. We will design a timetable for you, focusing on Defence and Duelling, Potions, Transfiguration, Advanced Charms, as well as introducing you to runic and ritual spell casting and continuing your work on mind magic, such as Occlumency. Your parents were never able to tell you, but you may have a special legacy in the world of alchemy, too. These things will all empower you. We will need you at your fullest if we are to venture into the world to fight this darkness."

Now all of Harry bristled in swell of nervous excitement. Hermione, on the other hand, had gone rather pale.

"Going out into the world...to fight?"

"War is not for the faint hearted, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore. Colour rushed back to Hermione's cheeks and she actually glowered at the Headmaster, which Harry thought was very bold and brassy of her.

"I'm ready," said Harry.

"No, you are not," Dumbledore disagreed. "But you have the remaining weeks of the Summer to lay the foundations for your recovery. Your wounds run deep, Harry, do not expect them to heal overnight. We will take things as slowly as we can...but time is not eternal...for any of us."

Harry found his gaze had dropped to Dumbledore's sleeve, from which his wounded hand was peeking out.

"Yes, it is to do with that," said Dumbledore as Harry made to ask again. "I promise I will explain when the time is right. But for now, our focus must be on _you_ , Harry, to prepare you to become the leader we need you to be. Training for that will begin in my righting a mistake I made last year."

Dumbledore reached into his robe and drew out a shiny red and gold badge with a large letter ' _P_ ' engraved onto it. Hermione gasped in glee as she saw it, an act not missed by Dumbledore.

"This correction is also my apology to _you_ , Miss Granger," said Dumbledore. "Harry was my initial choice for Prefect, but I had rather hoped to gee-up some effort from Mr Weasley by offering him the position. Forgive me, it was an old man's error."

"Nothing can correct Ron's laziness," bemoaned Hermione. "He likes the _idea_ of authority more than the reality of it."

"Then I hope to see you take to the role with more gusto, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Leadership is a skill that can be learned."

"And I'll have a great teacher," said Harry, grinning at Hermione, who turned a rather cute shade of scarlet. "I wont let you down...either of you."

"Very well, very well," said Dumbledore, his eyes flashing brilliantly again. "Come along. Let us get you both to a safer location. Miss Granger, I do hope your parents will not object to my joining you. I haven't been in a Muggle car for years and I so do enjoy the experience."


	2. The Blue Room

A/N: A note on timelines. I write my stories as if they are happening in the current world, despite the original books being over 20 years old now. Truth is, I'm too lazy to track the timelines back and see what was happening in the real world at the time these stories would have been set against the original canon. You are in the current world, so am I, this is not historical fiction. It doesn't matter. So if anyone feels like commenting about the fact that elements of this story contain references that are too modern, I really don't care. They are just window dressing for the background and seriously not that important.

* * *

Harry sat alone in the bedroom, staring at the baby blue wallpaper. The cream carpet beneath his bare feet was soft and bouncy; Harry curled his toes into the warm fibres as he stared around. The bed was a large double, firm and layered with a cosy quilt the same colour as the walls. Two fluffy pillows sat eager and waiting for a tired head. It was welcoming, perfect.

But Harry had not felt like such an outsider in many years.

He sighed hard and gulped down a shuddering breath. This bedroom, this house, was just like its owners...jarringly _normal_. That's what had struck Harry the most about the car ride introduction to David and Catrin Granger. They were so _regular_. Warm and welcoming, obviously intelligent (it was clear Hermione had been spoiled for brainy genes from her parents) and pleasant company to be around. And their house was the same. It wasn't the sort of place that would be associated with anything strange or mysterious, let alone dangerous. There was no hint that a powerful witch lived in the house, nor that the most hunted teenager in Britain was now darkening its doors.

Which was just how Harry felt. Dark. Somehow, the lightness of Hermione's home had thrown this into sudden, stark relief for him. His initial burst of euphoria at leaving Privet Drive, his willing surrender to Hermione's care, both had vanished in an instant. All he could see now was the risk that he was, the abnormal danger he posed to this normality. It was as if the dark emotions he always felt at Privet Drive had somehow shrouded the reality...he _belonged_ in such a place. In suffering and solitude. If the Dursleys suffered, it didn't matter. They _deserved_ it. Harry would shed no tears for them.

But if anything happened to Hermione...and it was _his_ fault...

Harry stood and paced with the restless anguish of these racing thoughts. He crossed to the window and pressed his head to the cool of the glass. He watched outside as Dumbledore inspected Hermione's defence wards, Harry's heart swelling with pride as he saw the Headmaster nod his head, obviously impressed with Hermione's work. That was hardly a surprise - she was the brightest witch of the age, why should anyone be surprised by her magical brilliance? Harry never was, but he realised he didn't tell her nearly enough.

That realisation just made him feel worse. She'd gone to so much trouble for him - from convincing her parents to give him a safe place to stay, as if he were a lost lamb, right up to risking exposure to magical law enforcement by casting defensive enchantments over her house. The research of those alone would have been a serious undertaking, one to push even Hermione's love of reading to the limit.

Harry watched on as Dumbledore added his own protective spells to the slew of enchantments Hermione had already erected. Even Dobby was flicking his own magic into the protective barrier. Harry had been left alone to get his bearings in the guest bedroom, which was where he'd be staying for the rest of the Summer. But he just felt out of place, like a disease that would infect the very air of the house. He shouldn't be here. This was a terrible decision. Harry's stomach tightened in a gut-aching knot, sickness roiling and churning alongside it.

He was going to vomit, he knew it. He had brought the worst of dangers to his best friend, and she was going to be targeted just for holding that dubious title. Harry stumbled to the bedroom door, flinging it open, not caring how loudly it banged against the wardrobe just inside the room. He lurched to the bathroom just down the hall, slammed the door and clicked the lock shut, just as the first wave of bile stung his throat.

A second later and his head was nearly halfway round the U-bend.

Harry retched and heaved, vomit coming from his nose as well as his mouth. The splashback from the toilet bowl water coated his glasses in the fury of his sickness. He threw up till he was spent, then simply slumped against the cistern, breathing hard. Boiling tears came before he could stop them, breaking hot on his sweaty, dirty cheeks. He couldn't stop them, it was like a dam had broken. The guilt and grief over Sirius had swarmed up to join with his anguish over what he was doing to the Grangers. He dry retched again and fell to the bathroom floor, hugging into himself and wishing this agony would just go away.

There was movement on the landing outside. Harry could hear hushed voices and someone trying the door handle. Then there was a small, cautious knock. Harry couldn't face the idea of responding.

"Harry? A-are you okay?"

It was Hermione's voice, small and concerned. Harry curled up into a still tighter ball on the bathroom rug.

"I will Apparate inside, check on Harry."

"No!" Hermione yelped, her voice a hissed whisper. "Harry would _hate_ to be seen in the state he must be in. No, Sir...you _mustn't_ go to him without his permission."

Harry's heart thumped with a powerful wave of gratitude for Hermione in that moment.

"Very well, Miss Granger," Dumbledore conceded. "But perhaps Dobby could go. Harry seems very quiet in there..."

"He was throwing up very _loudly_ ," Harry heard the voice of Catrin Granger say. She sounded as concerned as Hermione. "The poor lamb is probably spent from all the effort."

Harry sunk down into the floor, fitfully embarrassed that he'd roused the whole house, it would seem.

"At least there was _some_ sound from him," David Granger added. "He was very quiet in the car."

"I would beg for patience on that front," Dumbledore replied. "Harry is an extremely pleasant and sociable young man, but he has suffered much in his life. As a child he was isolated from the world by his relatives; even at Hogwarts he was separated from his peers by his reputation and subsequent achievements. I feel Harry finds it difficult to let people close...but he is fiercely affectionate and protective of those he does. Few are ever granted this most intimate of titles...to be considered by Harry Potter as a _friend_."

Harry heard Hermione breath out a barely audible _'oh_ '. For some reason, it made his skin tingle.

"So, I plead on Harry's behalf," Dumbledore went on. "Give him time. He will come to you when he's comfortable, to express his gratitude for your courtesy. I know he will deeply appreciate what you have done for him, and will be keen to thank you for it. But Harry has suffered a great trauma recently, try to not judge him harshly for not coming to you right away."

"You _wouldn't_ , would you?" Hermione cried, suddenly angry. "Mum? Dad?"

There was such a ferocious demand in Hermione's voice that even Harry was taken aback.

"Of course we wouldn't, sweetheart," said Catrin, soothingly. "Your friend is most welcome here. We couldn't have left him in such appalling conditions as you described him living in. Besides, I've been keen to meet the boy you've talked so much about for the last five years."

" _Mum!"_ Hermione hissed. "Be quiet! He'll _hear_ you!"

"Oh, honey, don't be so coy," Catrin replied. "I just meant that we've never properly met any of your friends. It'll be nice to finally have the chance to. I just hope we can help, even just by making him comfortable. You speak so highly of Harry - if we can even play the smallest part in his healing process I hope he'll let us. That you _both_ will."

Harry started at that. What did she mean by that? By _both_? Had Hermione positioned herself so firmly as his primary carer that she had claimed dominion over his well-being, over his recovery? He didn't feel anything like worthy enough of that, but also covetously grateful. The thought that Hermione was so determined to help him, that she would vet and dictate how that was shaped, stirred odd flutterings in Harry's stomach, far different than the sickness he'd been feeling. He felt more ashamed than ever, that he was being so weak while she was so fiercely strong. Besmirching the Granger's house, insulting their hospitality.

Harry roused himself, and flushed his sickness away. The noise caused the congregation outside the door to stir to action.

"I think we should give Harry space to come out without being smothered," said Hermione.

"I agree," said Dumbledore. "Mr Granger...you were saying you've built a model replica of the Hogwarts Express for this epic train set in your attic. Would you do me the honour of showing it to me? I feel my life will not be complete until I have seen it."

"As long as Catrin agrees," David Granger replied eagerly. "I'm never usually allowed to play with it unless it's a weekend."

Harry stifled a laugh at that.

"Of course you may see it, Mr Dumbledore," said Catrin. "David can give you a full tour. It may take a while...the set covers the _whole_ of the attic space by this point."

"Marvellous," said Dumbledore, as Harry wondered if he'd be allowed a peek at this train set. He'd always harboured a bit of love for them. "Come along then, Mr Granger. Lead the way."

Muffled footsteps moved away, and could then be heard on the creaky wooden staircase to the attic.

"What about you, dear?" Catrin was saying. "Will you wait for Harry?"

"No, I'll wait till he's back in his room and more comfortable," said Hermione. "I don't want to spook him."

"You're really worried about him, aren't you?" asked Catrin. "I've never seen you like this."

"Oh, it's just...he's been through so _much,_ Mum," Hermione moaned. "It isn't fair. Harry is such a great friend, a great person. He doesn't have many people who do worry about him. I just hope I can help."

"I'm sure you can," said Catrin reassuringly. "After what Harry has endured, support and care are the best medicines. I see what he sets off in you, Hermione...you are exactly what he needs right now."

Harry shivered slightly at the words, for he felt the truth in each one. Hermione may have decided to give him respectful distance, but Harry thought in that moment that he wouldn't have objected to her coming in to look after him. He shyly accepted the concept, as weird as it was. It just felt right to him, not that he was about to call out for Hermione.

"Come on, let's give Harry some space to come out," said Catrin. "Shall we order take-away? Maybe a formal dinner isn't the best way to go tonight."

"That's a great idea, Mum," said Hermione happily. "Do you have the numbers of any good places?"

"Hermione, honey, you're quite behind the times," said Catrin, somewhat smugly. "You can have all the magic you like, but I wouldn't trade my Smart Phone for your magic wand. I have an app stocked full of local take-away places. I'm thinking pizza...does Harry like pizza?"

"Who _doesn't_ like pizza?" Hermione laughed. "Come on...show me this phone of yours, it sounds fascinating."

* * *

It was half an hour before Harry heard a knock on the bedroom door. It had taken fully ten minutes to clean up his mess in the bathroom, and he refused to leave it till every splatter has been attended to. Eventually, he had to accept his work and made his way back to the guest room to change into clean clothes. He found the smashed shard of Sirius' mirror in his trunk, and spent a good few minutes staring at the glass in forlorn hope. Then he flung it back amongst his sparse possessions as dark frustration swelled within him again.

"Harry? Can I come in?"

That felt wrong, for Hermione to ask permission of him to enter a room in her own house.

"Yeah," Harry called back.

Hermione slid slowly into the room, through a crack in the door barely wide enough for her dainty frame. She closed the door behind her and rested back against it a moment, assessing Harry critically. He shied away from her scrutiny.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked softly.

"I'm okay," Harry replied heavily. He wasn't, but it seemed the right thing to say. "Just sorry, that's all."

"Sorry?" asked Hermione, confused. "Sorry for what?"

Harry looked up nonplussed. "For what? For _that!"_

Harry gesticulated in the direction of the bathroom.

"Oh, Harry, you don't need to apologise for that," said Hermione, crossing the room to sit next to him on the edge of the bed. "I'm just worried about you. Are you feeling unwell?"

"Only in my head and my soul," Harry offered blithely. Hermione frowned, not seeing the humour in it. "It just all got to me earlier...the danger I'm putting you all in. I don't think I could stand it if something happened to you...I just couldn't."

Hermione took Harry's hand in her own. "I know. I'm the same. But the best way to be safe is to stick together. This isn't your fault, Harry. None of it is. You aren't the one putting us in danger."

Harry looked at her, guilt heaving in his chest. "I...I was...at the Department of Mysteries..."

Hermione turned fully to him, searching his face for meaning. He couldn't meet her eyes. He dipped his head.

"Harry...?"

"I'm sorry, Hermione...so, so sorry..."

Tears stung at Harry's eyes again. He blinked furiously to keep them back.

"Harry, hey," said Hermione, moving her hand to Harry's chin and easing his head back up. "I'm alright. You...you haven't been _worrying_ about that - about _me_ \- have you?"

Harry looked at her in bewilderment. "Of course I have! You nearly _died_ , Hermione. I've done little _but_ think about it."

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione whined. "You've had enough to be worrying about, without being concerned over me!"

"How can you say that?" Harry cried. "Do you have any idea how important you are to me? The possibility of losing you..it scares me more than the idea of losing Sirius did before...before...he _went_. I was so close to giving up when I thought you'd died. Neville can tell you. But I never even asked how you were doing! I was so wrapped up in myself."

"Harry, I knew you were concerned about me," said Hermione gently. "You were at my bedside in the Hospital Wing more than anyone. I knew you weren't up for talking much. Please don't blame yourself."

"I can't promise that," said Harry quietly. "If I'd listened to you, if I'd not been so blind over Sirius...you wouldn't have been hurt, and he wouldn't have died. It's all my fault."

Harry looked up at the ceiling. Voicing his sickening guilt aloud just made it all worse. He blinked hard again, but a tear escaped his eye. It happened to be on the side facing Hermione. The next thing Harry knew was his head being eased down to Hermione's shoulder. He shuddered, heaving rather than crying, and just allowed Hermione to soothe him, threading her fingers through his hair. It felt quite nice; Harry gave to it like a tranquilliser.

"This isn't your fault," Hermione breathed. "Voldemort is a master manipulator. He played on your affections, but you should have been better prepared for it."

Harry pulled away. There was something in Hermione's tone. It was angry and bitter, and that startled him.

"What are you talking about?"

Hermione drew her wand, and flicked a Privacy Charm at the bedroom door.

"Don't worry," said Hermione, to Harry's questioning look. "My wards include some serious security charms. The Ministry wont have any sort of clue that magic is going on here. We can use magic safely within the house and gardens. We are trying to avoid the Aurors as much as anyone else...we don't know who we can trust in Magical Government, Law Enforcement or Military."

"Sweet merlin," Harry replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "Our list of allies is wearing thin."

"Harry...I think our entire list exists in this very room."

Harry stared blankly at Hermione. "What are you on about?"

"Harry, I don't entirely trust Dumbledore," Hermione whispered. "He's hiding a lot more than he's letting on, and I am so angry that he left you with your Aunt and Uncle knowing _full well_ what was going on with you. That's unforgivable. And he was watching me for a good while before he showed himself. He has an agenda...I just don't know that it's as wholesome as we'd hope. I think we have to be wary of him, too."

"Then who _can_ we trust?" asked Harry, slightly exasperated.

"I trust you, Harry."

Hermione was looking so honestly and earnestly at him that Harry actually blushed. Then he felt himself smile. "I trust you, too."

Hermione smiled back. "Then that's who we have. And all we need. Which is why I need you to feel comfortable here. It's the only place either of us are truly safe."

And just like that, Harry settled into the house as though he'd always been there.

"Okay. The big question I suppose...what about the Weasleys?"

Hermione's expression darkened. "Harry...can I confess something to you?"

Harry suddenly tensed. There was a tone in Hermione's voice that he didn't like at all. He felt like she was going to tell him a secret, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to know it.

"Of course you can," said Harry cautiously. "What is it?"

"I...I was going to ask you to speak to Ron for me."

Harry swallowed hard again. "About what?"

Hermione looked terribly meek. "He...he slipped me a note as we left the Express at the end of the year. It...made me really uncomfortable. I was going to ask you to have a word with him for me...to tell him to back off a little."

Spiky anger rose in Harry's chest and his jaw tightened. "Back off? Why? What was in this note?"

"He...he said he's liked me for a little while," said Hermione, sheepishly. "Since the Yule Ball actually. I was quite flattered when I read that, but then it started to get...inappropriate. Ron said how he's been watching me, especially at Hogsmeade weekends when we were out of robes. It made me really uncomfortable. We're good friends, but I'm not interested in him like that and I don't think I've encouraged anything from him. But then, it got worse. He said that when Voldemort was in power before, he sacrificed a lot of virgins for rituals. Ron said he'd be happy to _'sort me out_ ' on that front...I'm sure I don't need to be graphic about what he actually meant."

"What!" Harry thundered. "How dare he! I'll punch the bastard for that!"

Hermione blushed. "Thank you, Harry. But that's not necessary. I was going to ask you to speak to him, that's all...but now..."

"You think he's been gotten to by Percy?"

Hermione nodded. "It might not even be that. But he's asked me three times already to go to The Burrow for the Summer. I grew suspicious at that. I've only ever gone to The Burrow out of necessity - the Quidditch World Cup, for example. It's weird that he's been so persistent in inviting me. I'm suspicious, Harry."

Harry thought a moment. "I don't want to believe that Ron would turn on his own...but under Percy's control...it's possible."

"Oh, come on, Harry!" Hermione cried. "How are you so _blinkered_ when it comes to Ron?"

"What do you mean?"

"Fourth year...Ron abandoned you at the drop of a hat when your name came out of the Goblet...he's constantly jealous about your wealth and fame...he holds you back at school...he's no _good_ for you, Harry."

Harry looked at her, as though she'd lifted a veil from his eyes. He'd never seen her so passionate _against_ Ron...and he totally understood why. But he understood something else, too...she was hurt by Harry's actions. His heart beat hard in protest against the idea, he didn't want it to be true, but he couldn't deny it.

"And you stayed with me during the Tournament," Harry replied quietly. "And you've always been there for me and tried to make me better at all things I do. You...you're my _actual_ best friend...but I've prioritised Ron. I've been so dumb, Hermione."

"Yes, you have, but you're a _boy_ at the end of the day, I can't hold it against you," Hermione grinned.

"But will you give me the chance to make it up to you?"

"I've invited you into my home, what do you think?"

"I think I'm an idiot," said Harry. "But what are we going to do?"

"We have to become actors," said Hermione. "We have to present a face to Ron, maybe Ginny, too, as well as Dumbledore and anyone else. The only time we can be honestly truthful is with each other. No secrets, Harry. That's the only way we'll get through this."

"I can do that," said Harry. "And I'll need you. If Dumbledore teaches me combat magic, runes and alchemy then I'll need you to explain the whole lot to me. I have a lot of academic catch up to do."

"That will be easy," said Hermione, smiling. "We get our own bathroom and there's a special Prefect Common Room, too. Homework, research and monitoring stations for our House. Very private."

Hermione emphasised this last point, as though she considered it very important. Harry's skin prickled with nervous energy as her tone swept over him. It made his insides squirm. That was weird.

"Okay. It's just you and me," said Harry. "I'll keep an eye on Dumbledore, tell you how our private lessons go. Then you can dissect them."

"And you can also keep Ron away from me," said Hermione. "I bet you get offered the Quidditch Captaincy this year. Maybe you should give the job to Ron. Distract him from anything else he might be involved in."

"That's beautifully devious," said Harry. "I love it. I also need to find out what happened to Dumbledore's hand. Did you see it?"

"Yes, it looks burnt and deformed," said Hermione. "But I was more interested in the cracked ring on his finger. I've never noticed that before. Why would he wear a broken ring?"

"I don't know, but it makes me think you're right about him, hiding stuff I mean," said Harry. "It must be important if he didn't tell us outright."

"I agree, which is why I think it's even more important that we just keep to ourselves," said Hermione. She bit her lip and shifted awkwardly, looking cautiously at Harry. "I...I did have an idea about that. About how we can communicate with each other privately."

"Of course you did," Harry grinned. "What is it?"

"Well...and now don't freak out...but with all this new stuff you're going to be involved in, I thought we could explore something a bit _older_."

"Like what?"

"Your...your _Parseltongue_ ," said Hermione. "I started doing research into it after the Chamber of Secrets. It's not so much an innate gift, or a Dark Art, but more a remnant from human evolution. We all have dormant animal DNA in our genes, redundant but still there. It becomes prominent in some magicals. Reptile and feline DNA are quite prevalent in our genome. It's how Animagi can learn to transform, by tapping into those animal elements. Talking to animals is part of that, too. I...I've been trying to learn cat language, to speak to Crookshanks. It's been hard, but I think I can communicate a few words with him now."

"Wow," said Harry. "That's amazing. Why didn't you ever say?"

Hermione's cheeks were tinged pink. "I thought you'd laugh at me."

"Laugh? Why would I laugh? That's brilliant."

"Thanks, Harry!" Hermione beamed. "I'm glad you think so. So, what do you think? About exploring your Parseltongue abilities. It's a whole branch of magic in itself, you know. Some books even say there is a whole race of reptilian people, living underground somewhere, and they use Parselmagic to hide themselves."

"Really?" said Harry, his eyes widening. "Imagine that...human reptiles? Even in a world of magic, that would really be something to see!"

"I'm not sure I believe all that, honestly," said Hermione sniffily. "But Parseltongue is definitely real, so let's focus on that. It could be so useful for you."

"And...you'd try to learn it, too?" asked Harry. "I feel like I'm asking so much of you, Hermione."

"And I hope you keep asking," Hermione replied chirpily. "I know you always try to do things alone. But I'm here for you. We're in this together."

Harry smiled at her, so glad to have her true and pure at his side. "Thank you, if I ever forget to say it. For anything and everything. Come on, I think I should go and introduce myself properly to your parents."

"Are...are you ready for that?"

"I'm not really sure, to be honest, but it's the right thing to do," said Harry. "Besides, if we are going to eat pizza together the least I can do is thank them for letting me."

Hermione laughed. She stood and offered Harry her hand, which he took, slipping his fingers easily between hers. It was funny how easily they knitted together.

"Okay, Harry. If you're sure. I'll give you a proper tour of the house on the way."

"Sounds good," said Harry. "And I'd really like to see this train set of your Dad's. It sounds amazing."

Hermione rolled her eyes, in much the same way Harry imagined her mother might do when her husband announced he was heading to the attic. Harry allowed Hermione to guide him from the room, feeling a lot more relaxed this time than when he left it last. Maybe, just maybe, he thought...his healing had begun.


	3. Potter Is The New Black

Harry lay on his back and felt the warmth of the sun on his face, in a state far withdrawn from any semblance of thought. He was aware of the grass tickling the underside of his calf, and of the scratching of Hermione's pen as she scribbled away at her homework, and the occasional tinkle of ice against glass as she sipped her drink. It was exactly the sort of solitude Harry wanted just then, alone but not quite alone, with his best friend sat nearby, giving him just enough space, but not letting him out of the reach of her care. Or of that of her cat, who would circle Harry every now and then and butt his big, squashed orange face against Harry's head.

"You know, I really _don't know_ why we've been given Defence homework," Hermione commented as she took a swig of her cranberry juice. "We don't even have a teacher for it. It might be worthless."

Harry snorted. "That might be about as close as I've ever heard you come to complaining about the need to do homework!"

"You know I like homework, Harry," Hermione replied, somewhat sheepishly.

"I do know, and that's perfectly alright," said Harry. "It's great, actually, because you know I'll be coming cap in hand for help with my own stuff. Especially next year, if Dumbledore proves true to his word."

"I wonder what sort of new work you'll be doing," Hermione thought aloud. "Practical Defence, Advanced Runes and Ritual - which I'm super jealous about, by the way - and alchemy, didn't Dumbledore say? That's a fascinating schedule, you know."

"I can't escape Potions and Transfig, though," Harry replied. "I know it will all be useful, but it sounds complex and hard. I…I just hope I'm up to it."

"Of course you will be," said Hermione confidently. "The only reason you give the impression of struggle is because Ron is such a drag-factor for you. I wont let him do that anymore. Not now you're going to be a Prefect with me. You need to set the highest example in every way you can."

"Is it hard? Being a Prefect?"

Harry had been thinking about this for a few days, ever since Dumbledore had given him the badge, in fact. He had a vague understanding of the Prefect duties, but Ron had never been exactly diligent in his workload. Hermione did the majority of it. Harry felt a corrosive bitterness rise towards Ron as he thought that. He was a terrible friend, really, and Harry felt ashamed on his behalf. He felt guilty, too, for never calling Ron out on it. Rather, he probably enabled his behaviour. He squirmed awkwardly at the notion.

"I wouldn't say it's _hard_ ," Hermione replied. "But it is demanding. The worst part is telling off the people you know, the ones you're friends with."

"Like when you catch one of them taking a secret passage to Hogsmeade and you know you _really_ should turn them in, but you've got a heart of gold so you don't."

Harry curled his head to grin at Hermione, who was blushing as she chuckled. Her face lit up when she laughed. Harry had noticed that recently. It was a look that suited her and Harry wondered that he hadn't spotted it before.

"Well, yes, something like that," said Hermione eventually. "You are terribly incorrigible, you know."

"Or maybe you're just a bad Prefect," Harry teased, to which Hermione dipped into her glass and flicked an ice cube at him. But Hermione Granger was no sportswitch; the ice cube landed a good three feet away from Harry's head and Crookshanks went scrambling happily after it. "Okay! Okay! You're the best at everything."

"Better," Hermione grinned.

"Which subjects did you decide on taking next year?" Harry asked. "You never said."

Hermione gave a little cough. "I think you'll find _I did_ , but I'll let you off. You've had a lot on your mind."

She shot Harry a pained look. He wished she wouldn't, it just made him feel all the more pitiful. He was actually starting to get better. Just being with Hermione for two days was an excellent tonic. She was all that he knew she would be - kind, considerate, a great ear to absorb his venting…or a comfortable shoulder to absorb his tears, which had flowed more frequently than he'd have liked, the last time being that very morning.

"Sorry, I've forgotten," said Harry quietly, looking back up and tracking an aeroplane as it crossed the sky above him. "If I ever heard at all."

His words drifted off and he closed his eyes as his familiar blackness threatened to surge into his mind again. He was aware of movement, the scraping of Hermione's chair, and suddenly she was laying down next to him. She was too close, that was the first thing Harry registered. The tops of their shoulders were touching. Harry had noticed that, too; Hermione was exceptionally keen to invade his personal space as often as possible and Harry, far from being affronted by the invasion, found that he didn't mind at all.

In fact, sometimes, he found he'd quite like her to stay a bit longer.

But he couldn't think about that. It had the feel of the forbidden. So he pushed the thought aside, as he felt Hermione turn to look at him. Harry rolled his head to the left and opened his eyes. The movement had brought their faces very close together; Harry could see Hermione's pupils dilating they were so close. His breath caught a minute, which was odd, and Harry found himself struggling to understand why.

"How are you, Harry?" Hermione asked, quite as breathless as Harry felt. "Honestly?"

Harry looked back up at the sky. "It changes by the hour," he replied truthfully. "I've seen so much, Hermione, been through a hell of a lot of crap over the years. But last year…I don't know…it was so much worse. Bad things happened not just to me, but to the two people I cared about most in the world. I feel like it's bruised my heart, if that makes sense."

Harry heard Hermione hiccup next to him, but he didn't think he could bear to look in her face while he was spilling his emotions all over her.

"Being here…being with you…it's made me realise just how reckless I've been with you," Harry went on. "I lost Sirius through my idiocy. I don't know if I'll ever deal with that. But I know one thing for sure…if _you'd_ died that night…I'd have never forgiven myself, never gotten over it. I would have given up there and then."

Hermione drew a stunned breath, and Harry could feel her eyes boring into him.

"I just feel like my life has been taken away from me again," Harry went on. "I've not really thought about what I'll do if we survive this war, or when we leave school. But losing Sirius has just made that worse. He could have helped me, guided me, as my parents would have. Now…I'm just all alone."

"You're not alone, Harry," said Hermione softly. "Never think that."

Then she did something that both surprised and startled Harry. She turned her body to him, laying her head across his chest and curling her arm around his head. Harry's insides flipped and squirmed. He could smell the shampoo still lingering in Hermione's hair as it tickled his nose.

"Never think you're alone, Harry," Hermione whispered into his throbbing ribcage. "You'll always have me."

Harry felt Hermione tremble at her own words. Why was she trembling? Harry didn't know, but his own skin erupted in little pin-pricks as he felt Hermione's almost imperceptible movements atop him.

"But I nearly lost you, too," Harry replied eventually. "I can't even fully accept how close that came, or how you are _still_ in danger."

"Neither of us can do anything about that," said Hermione. "Other than by defeating Voldemort."

Harry steeled at that. Every time Hermione said Voldemort's name, Harry felt his courage soar. Her bravery was inspiring.

"I'll do my best, Hermione, I promise," said Harry. "And if I need your help, I hope you wont mind me asking."

Hermione snorted and sat up. Harry felt her warmth go with a disconcerting sadness. "You wont have to ask," she said simply. "I'll be right there alongside you. I'll more than likely be _telling_ you what to do!"

She giggled and poked Harry playfully in the ribs. Harry laughed and swatted her off.

"I'll listen to you if you do," said Harry faithfully. "You've not steered me wrong yet."

"Don't jinx it, Harry," Hermione teased.

"So…your subjects," said Harry. "You were saying."

"Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, Defence, Herbology and Arithmancy," said Hermione, checking them off on her fingers. "Though I'm going to see if I can do elective study in either Magical Theory or Magical Law."

"Because?"

"I'm not 100% sure on my career path just yet," said Hermione. "But the more I learn about the magical world, the more I am dissatisfied with it. I may have been misguided about house-elves, but there are many more wrongs out there to be righted. The Pureblood agenda, the Patriarchal government system, the corruption from the top down. I'm just keeping my options open."

"And what options!" Harry laughed. "You'll be on a crusade for the rest of your life!"

"At least it will be interesting," Hermione sniffed. "Are you still set on being an Auror?"

"Truth?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded. "I'm not looking that far ahead. I have to get Tom Riddle out of my life…before I can even _think_ about a life after him."

"Oh, Harry! You can't do that!" Hermione cried. "You can't put your future on hold for _him."_

"He _is_ my future, Hermione…the Prophecy made that clear."

They looked at each other. They'd discussed the Prophecy several times over the past few days, ever since Harry had recited it to a horrified Hermione. She had been trying to dissect it ever since, to find a way around Harry needing to become a murderer…or from being murdered by one.

"The Prophecy said you have the power to survive," Hermione pointed out. "You have to be planning for a life beyond all of this."

"I know you're right," Harry sighed. "But I find it hard to think about paying taxes and getting a mortgage while I'm at daily risk of being snuffed out."

"Don't say that, Harry," said Hermione darkly. "It isn't funny…not funny at all."

"Doesn't make it any less true," said Harry. "But if it makes you feel better, I'll start to have a think about what I might want to do if I do survive. Okay?"

Hermione scrunched her nose at him. "Okay. And don't think you have to be an Auror, just because Ron wanted to be one. I wanted to be a librarian when I was little…you grow out of things."

"You would be the _worst_ librarian!" Harry laughed.

"Oh really…and why's that?" asked Hermione, slightly cross as she folded her arms across her chest.

"Simple…you'd never let anyone take any of your precious books!" Harry chortled. "You'd be Madam Pince but ten times more evil."

"Shut up, Harry," said Hermione, poking him again. "Speaking of books, I'd better get back to mine. No point me trying to coax you to join me, I suppose?"

Harry looked at her with sad, pleading eyes. "Not today…my mind's not on it…I'll only end up having you re-write whatever rubbish I scribble down. And that isn't fair on you."

"Okay." Hermione got up and returned to her seat without a word of protest at Harry's stance. Harry let the sun beat down on his face a moment, took a heavy breath, then spoke to Hermione without looking at her.

"Thank you. In case I forget to say…thank you…for all of this."

* * *

By the end of the first week a routine had begun to establish itself. Typically, Harry would be allowed to sleep in until Hermione decided he'd had enough, then he'd sit with her in the garden while she ploughed on with her homework and Harry tried to tan his stress away. Hermione would let him be silent if he wanted, wouldn't question when he'd up and randomly pace around the garden, or stare into the flowerbeds as if trying to divine from them.

But then, in the evening, they'd sit in Hermione's bedroom and she'd make him tell her what particular darkness was on his mind just then. If he didn't, she wouldn't let him choose what they watched on her 40-inch flat screen television that night. It was bribery, but it worked, for Harry always ended up with the remote control in his hand, his gloomy mind a little lighter for the confession.

And Harry was slowly getting used to Hermione's parents, too. They were, frankly, lovely people, and both took pains to make him feel welcome in their home, while at the same time not putting any pressure on him to open up to them. Saturday had been something of a watershed, as Hermione had abandoned her near round-the-clock vigil at Harry's side, when her father invited Harry to watch a rugby match on TV with him. Her mother had cajoled Hermione's agreement and Harry happily accepted, spending a pleasant afternoon debating the merits of Muggle versus Magic sports with Hermione's dad.

Hermione, meanwhile, spent the afternoon shopping with her mother and Dobby, who Harry had insisted accompany them for safety. They had a specific reason for their venture and Catrin seemed almost as excited about it as Hermione.

"I haven't planned a birthday party since you were eleven," she cooed happily. "And never a surprise one. You were always very stubborn when it came to your own birthdays."

"I just knew what I wanted," Hermione returned haughtily, pondering which colour icing to select. "I'd always much rather a magician - so I could work out how they did the tricks - rather than a princess party, or something."

Catrin laughed. "But you were so cute in a tutu."

"I was four. Everyone's cute at four."

"Harry's _still_ cute," Catrin offered cautiously. "You're very sly for not warning me."

"Mum! Really!" Hermione hooted indignantly. "You can't say that."

"I just did," Catrin replied simply. "Honestly, if I was thirty years younger…I'd have begged for him to stay with me years ago…then spent the Summer chasing him round the house!"

"Mother! Please!" Hermione whimpered. "I do _not_ need to have that vision in my mind. That's my best friend you're so flagrantly objectifying!"

"Best friend or not," said Catrin lightly. "He's distractingly adorable. Come on, love, you must have noticed."

Hermione felt heat rise to her cheeks. "Well, of course I've _noticed._ He's always been the same…and he's getting better looking the older he gets. It's very annoying, actually."

Catrin laughed. "Some men are lucky that way. You should thank yourself lucky for it, too."

Hermione stopped the trolley near the baked beans and turned to her mother. "And why, exactly, is that?"

"Are you being coy…or dense?" asked Catrin. "I can never tell with you these days. You've become very artful."

Hermione narrowed her eyes as she frowned. "Mum."

"What? You must have noticed how much time Harry spends looking at you," said Catrin. "And his look is blindingly obvious…he definitely thinks _you're_ cute, too."

"Don't be absurd, Mum," Hermione laughed, moving off again. "That's the biggest load of nonsense I've heard since Ron babbling on about making a broomstick that could fly to Jupiter."

"Really? Is that possible?"

"No, Mum."

"Hmm, I didn't think so," Catrin replied with a wry grin. "But _this_ is."

"Mum, look," said Hermione patiently. "Harry doesn't fancy me, if that's what you're getting at. We're best friends, and right now I'm pretty much all he has. He's so wounded, Mum, I can't tell you. I've cried so many tears this Summer just listening to what he's going through…but if he _is_ looking at me, it's probably because he's having dark thoughts and needs to look to me for something safe and reassuring."

"Is it really that bad?"

"I don't want to describe it in the middle of ASDA, Mum," said Hermione. "It's guaranteed to set me off. Put it this way - Harry endured terrible things at his Aunt and Uncle's hands, but recently he was able to look ahead to the day he could live with his Godfather and maybe start being _happy_. Now that's gone, and he thinks his chance at happiness has gone with it."

"Harry's happy when he's looking at _you_ ," Catrin persisted. "I can see that."

Hermione blew out an exasperated breath. "Mum, will you drop this, please? I have enough on my plate dealing with all that Harry needs from me, without your silliness on top of it. Enough, please?"

"Fine, if you insist," Catrin replied, her eyes twinkling. "Just do one thing for your old Mum - count how many times Harry looks at you in one hour, then tell me how silly I'm being."

Hermione shook her head and went back to their shopping. She had an important catering project to focus on, after all. She was a mediocre baker, but she had Dobby for help. She wasn't sure Harry had ever received a birthday cake, apart from the one Hagrid gave him on his eleventh. Hermione wanted it to be perfect. She was pretty sure he would like her presents, but the cake somehow seemed more important to her. It was all she could think about.

Well, it _was,_ until her mother had planted this seed into her mind, while they were trawling through the aisles of the local supermarket. Did Harry _really_ look at her that often? She couldn't say she'd ever really noticed it, and she certainly wouldn't have attached her mother's meaning to it if she had. Harry fancying her! What a notion…

What a notion, indeed…

It stirred girlish flutters in Hermione's stomach and she fought to keep them under control. She knew her own heart well enough…she'd been making subtle plays for Harry all year - inviting him to make elf hats with her, asking him to meet her on Valentine's Day, that sort of thing. Just to test the waters. She'd kissed him a year ago and he hadn't recoiled, and she'd been steadily increasing their physical interactions ever since. Again, he didn't seem to mind at all. Of course, it was quite the distance to go, from the occasional hug or hand-hold for support or when in danger, to hugging for an entirely _different_ reason.

But Hermione had been slowly building up the courage to bring about that moment. Then Harry's crazy life had intervened, with Umbridge and the Forest and then the heartbreak of Sirius. That whole night had solidified her belief in her feelings…the utter horror she'd been struck with as Harry had stepped near to the Veil…the terror of what might happen to _her_ world if he fell through…the _proof_ of Sirius.

Hermione couldn't allow herself to think anymore about that night. It was too distressing, and her scar ached in agreement. But to hear Harry's confession that he was equally as affected by _her_ being struck down in the fight as he was Sirius' death…that spawned wild emotions which surged through her. Hermione knew she shouldn't feel so euphoric about the declaration; Harry was hurting, heart-sore. She had to focus on that.

But if she could get his heart to heal by opening her own to him, to remind him that not all emotion was bound to hurt, surely that was worth a selfish little risk or two.

So, that night, she decided to follow her mother's advice. It was a balmy, sultry evening, so the decision was taken to have dinner outside in the garden. Dressed salads, cold meats and a bottle of chilled wine were the order of the day (Harry and Hermione were relegated to fruit juices, impending birthday or not), and Hermione spent the whole first hour totting up the number of times Harry glanced in her direction. She made a conscious effort not to talk to him too much, as he'd be naturally looking at her during conversation, and that would reveal nothing at all. In all honesty, Hermione didn't expect to reach double figures in her counting.

Her _actual_ total left her somewhat astounded.

"Thirty-three," Hermione whispered to her mother as she poured another glass of wine. Harry had popped inside to use the bathroom. "Thirty-three times!"

Catrin grinned back at her. "Still convincing yourself it's because he's upset?"

"I…well…I…I mean…" Hermione stuttered out. "Why so many?"

"Harry _is_ upset," Catrin offered. "But he feels better when he looks at you. It's the simplest answer. Why that might be, I'm not the person to say. But the list of reasons would be pretty small."

"And you think your stupid idea of him fancying me is at the top of the list?"

Hermione knew it sounded insane just _saying_ it, though she rather thought her sarcasm might be a powerful shield to hide her underlying emotion… _hope_.

"I don't know why you think it's stupid," Catrin replied. "I mean…does Harry have a girlfriend?"

"No!" Hermione spat quickly. Her mother raised her eyebrows and Hermione couldn't blame her…she could still taste the acid of her own tone on her tongue.

"Then there we are," Catrin smiled. "He's single, handsome, polite and well-mannered…and he's clearly attracted to you, and it goes beyond thinking you're pretty."

"What makes you say that?" asked Hermione, blushing crazily.

"Because I've been observing him tonight, too. He doesn't just look at you…he _watches_. Blatantly and intently, as though waiting to see if there's a change, something you might need. I don't even have the words to describe that. And when you smile back at him…well, he looks at you _very_ differently then…as though you're the very centre of his world."

Hermione actually gasped at that.

"You said he doesn't have a girlfriend?" Catrin asked. "I think I've worked out just the reason for that, and it's sat before me with its' jaw hanging open. There's no way any girl will ever get close to Harry…not so long as he looks at _you_ the way he does."

And Hermione could think of little else for the rest of the night.

* * *

The next morning, Harry awoke to a mouthful of pussy. Ginger pussy at that. Evidently, Crookshanks was just as mean as his human familiar when it came to letting him sleep-in. It was hard to tell what time it was; bright blue skies at 7am were the norm during this heatwave-infused Summer. But Crookshanks was up and about, swishing his bushy tail into Harry's open mouth with reckless abandon, forcing him to wake up.

"Okay, okay, I get it, you ginger demon," said Harry grumpily. "My life is plagued by gingers!"

"Crooksie is _not_ a plague, are you, baby?"

Harry's eyes flew open. He could hear Hermione even if he couldn't see her, his vision obscured, as it was, by Crookshanks' bandy legs. Then he caught a cacophony of aromas - freshly-brewed coffee, toast, bacon, sausage…like a perfect handful of _Every-Flavour Beans._ He eased Crookshanks out of the way and reached for his glasses.

"Morning," said Hermione brightly, shifting in the lotus position on the end of the bed.

"Morning?" Harry returned suspiciously. "Breakfast in bed? Either you want something or you're apologising for something. I'm not sure I really want to know in either case."

"My, you are cross in the mornings, aren't you?" Hermione teased. "I don't want anything. Apart from to wish you a _Happy Birthday_ , of course."

Then she leaned over and placed a shy, chaste kiss to his cheek. A lump jumped into Harry's throat and that spot on his cheek tingled like it was on fire. Then he frowned.

"Is it today? Really?"

"You…you didn't know?" Hermione asked, slightly aghast.

"I knew it was coming up, but I suppose I've just lost track of the days," said Harry. He looked over at the tempting breakfast platter on the trolley next to the bed. "You…didn't have to go to so much trouble."

"Nonsense, of course I did," Hermione chirped happily. "It was a good chance to practice my Transfiguration skills, anyway. The essay we have from McGonagall wants details on how to ensure moving parts work correctly. I've always struggled with wheels, you know. The trolley works just fine. I'm quite pleased."

"I can't imagine you struggling with _anything_ ," Harry blurted out. He coloured a little and Hermione, herself, was tinged with pink.

"Why, thank you, Harry," she beamed. "But I work hard at it. There's no need to rush up. The platter has a heating charm on it, so the food will stay hot until you're ready to eat."

"Thanks, that's really thoughtful," said Harry. "But I could murder a coffee."

"Coming right up," said Hermione, scooting over to the tray and pouring two cups. "I intend to be your personal slave all day. I can hear you starting to protest, so don't even bother. It's your birthday…and I'm going to spoil you for a change."

"What have I done to deserve you as my best friend?" Harry asked in wonder.

" _One_ of your best friends, Harry," Hermione pointed out.

He couldn't have been certain, but he was sure Hermione was _fishing_ for something with the tone of her statement. But it was such an un-Hermione-ish thing to do that Harry almost didn't catch it. He felt thrown a moment. What was he supposed to say? He didn't want to disappoint her with the wrong reply. He decided to just play it safe with the truth.

"No, Hermione, you can only have one _best_ friend. Hence why it's call the _best_. There is no better. And for me…that's _you_."

Hermione seemed to choke a little on her coffee. "You really mean that, don't you? Even though you never told me when it happened."

"Oh, of course, how remiss of me," Harry laughed. "I was going to do it during the last Potions lesson of term, you know. Sit you and Ron down and say, ' _Hey guys, just so you know, Hermione's my official best friend now. Sorry, Ron, we've grown apart…it's not you, it's me…well, actually it is you, because you're a crass and immature prick and once I realised that I couldn't unsee it. And Hermione's great and smart and fun and has always been there for me, so she's just better for the job_ _P.s. up yours Professor Snape'_."

Harry bit his tongue, fearful that his sarcastic rant had gone a little too far. Hermione didn't seem offended, though. If anything, her eyes shone a little brighter than they had that morning. They were almost too dazzling to look at.

"Thank you, Harry. That was really nice of you…to say those things. Though you could have been less of a sassy bitch about it. Do...do you really mean them?"

"Of course I do," said Harry, perplexed. "They're all true. And the list could have gone on. I'm sorry for not telling you before but, well, it's not something that's going to just pop up in a conversation over a Herbology project, is it? But, there we are. Now you know."

"I think it, too…that you're my best friend," said Hermione, flushing again. "It's always been you…over Ron, I mean."

Harry's heart flapped at that. He just sat there and sipped his coffee a moment. For some reason, he felt unspeakably glad at Hermione's declaration. The idea that she might prefer Ron to him was so abhorrent that he wanted to rip it from his mind and take his wand to it. Where had _that_ come from? He didn't have long to consider it, though, as Hermione was suddenly up and moving again.

"Shall we open your presents?" she asked, producing a large stack from the foot of the bed.

Harry nodded and slid over to make room for Hermione, who moved to sit cross-legged next to him. She was touching him again, her knees falling onto his stomach above the quilt, but he found he didn't really want to move them. So he didn't.

"This one's from Mrs Weasley," said Hermione, handing Harry a rather heavy package.

"A tub of treacle fudge, I bet ten Galleons," said Harry. He peeled back the paper to confirm his theory. "I should complain about her lack of imagination, really…but this is good fudge."

"This one's from Ron," said Hermione. "It looks like a book, but that wouldn't make a lot of sense."

"Oh…it will," Harry scoffed bitterly, as he tore off the wrapping and read the front cover. "You're going to _love_ this Hippogriff shite."

Hermione's eyes scanned the cover of the book, her expression darkening as she read the title - _Fifty-Two Card Pick-Up._

 _"Over fifty chat up lines guaranteed to charm the witch of your dreams,"_ Hermione fumed as she read the back page blurb. " _Packed with advice to turn even the most hopeless wizard into the next Casanova_ … _including bonus chat-up lines with embedded attraction spells, just in case!…_ what a load of crap. Oh, Merlin…you should _read_ some of this rubbish, Harry! It's sexist trash!"

"Look, there's a note," said Harry, picking up a sheaf of parchment from inside the discarded wrapping. "It's from Ron… _Happy Birthday…_ blah, blah _…when are you coming to The Burrow_ …blah, blah…how can I be subtle by telling him I'm not heading to Chez Traitor any day soon?… _Mum hopes you're being fed properly at Hermione's…_ seriously, I reckon Molly would breastfeed me if she had the chance…oh…oh for Merlin's sake!"

"What? What is it?" asked Hermione, shocked by Harry's suddenly irate tone.

"Read for yourself," said Harry. He thrust the note into Hermione hands, watching as her eyes filled with angry fury.

"The…the…what?" Hermione spat. " _This book is a Godsend…I'm going to use all these on Hermione…I'll be in her knickers before Halloween, mark my words…maybe you can try them out on Luna or something, I bet she's a goer..._ that utter cretin!"

"Sorry," Harry offered.

"Don't you _dare_ apologise on that arsehole's behalf!" Hermione screeched. "And, for the record, the only way he'll be in my knickers - in _any_ way - is if I use a pair to strangle him with!"

"I wasn't apologising for him," said Harry, oddly flushed at the mention of Hermione's knickers. "Just sorry that you have to be exposed to this shite. If…if you don't want to be friends with him at all next year, I'm onside with it. We can cut him off completely. It might be safer anyway."

Hermione gawped at Harry, totally stunned. "You…you'd do that…for _me_?"

"I would," Harry nodded solemnly.

"Why, Harry? Where has this distaste for Ron come from?"

"Just from the realisation of what's important in my life," said Harry. "I've done a lot of thinking this past month or so, all of it about that topic. At the start of the Triwizard, Ron abandoned me. But I just let him back in when he came running. I treated you like utter crap, Hermione. You stuck with me, but I turned straight back to Ron. It was horrible of me…forgive me?"

"I never held it against you," said Hermione, gently. She looked genuinely moved. "We had just become a trio of friends again. I never knew you saw it any differently."

"I didn't, until I let myself think about it," Harry sighed. "And last year, Ron just lorded it over me about the whole Prefect thing, then didn't do his duties anyway. It was all about him getting on the Quidditch team, having his moment in the limelight. He didn't help with Grawp, he mocked me about Cho, mocked _you_ about S.P.E.W.; I had to cram like mad to give myself a chance on the exams, because he never let me study, and his reason was that I would be too much like you…as though that were a bad thing. I've just come to realise that he's not a good friend…and he's holding me back. I cant afford to have that deadwood around my neck anymore. That sounds terrible, doesn't it?"

"No, it makes a lot of sense, actually," said Hermione, clearly hurt by Ron's insults against her. "I've thought the same myself, too often to be comfortable with…but if you see it, too…I can stop thinking of myself as a bad person."

"You aren't a bad person," said Harry sincerely. "You're the best person. My favourite person, if there's any value in that!"

"Don't be silly, of course there is," said Hermione, her flush giving off its own heat at this point. "Here…these are from me."

She handed Harry two packages. He looked up at her. "You didn't have to get me so much," he mumbled.

"I couldn't decide between them," said Hermione. "So I went for both. Open them, then."

Harry took the smaller package first. It was shaped like a wand box, but it wasn't one of those. Inside the carefully wrapped paper was a sleek leather case, embossed with the Ollivander's logo. Harry undid the retaining clasp and his mouth fell open.

" _Professional Dueller's Wand Holster_!" Harry read, his voice barely a whisper. The words were stamped inside the leather case in glittering silver. " _Disillusion your wand for quick-draw, easy-access and rapid defence!_ _Keep your opponents and enemies guessing!_ This is amazing, Hermione!"

"I thought as you were going to be taking formal duelling lessons this would come in handy," she said. "I got one for myself, too. It just made sense."

"Thank you," said Harry, slipping the holster over his right forearm, where it immediately resized to fit. Harry grinned at it, marvelling at how cool it looked. Without thinking, he leant over and placed a soft kiss to Hermione's cheek. She blushed furiously. "Truly, thank you."

"Well, if I'd known I'd get showered in kisses, I'd have bought you a wand holster years ago," Hermione replied, her flush deepening. "Open the other one."

Harry did as he was told, his eyes widening as he unwrapped a shoulder to floor cloak, smooth and black and shimmering with magic.

"It's a battle-cloak," Hermione explained. "Finest treated dragonhide. Every inch is charmed with defensive spells and there are protection runes sewn into the fabric. It'll deflect most low to mid-level spells. No use against an Unforgivable, but you'll have a chance against most else."

"Wow, Hermione…this is incredible," Harry breathed. "I don't know what to say. I don't deserve this."

"No, you _do_ ," Hermione corrected. "You really do."

Harry put the cloak aside and sat up. Hermione bit her lip nervously as Harry leant in and drew her into a tender hug. He felt so very lucky in that moment, and he rarely ever felt that. He wished he could tell her so, but words seemed to have failed him. He just hoped this hug would do the same job.

"You're the best friend, you really are," said Harry eventually, his cheek softly brushing hers. "Thank you for being mine."

"Happy birthday, Harry," Hermione replied, her voice gossamer-soft. "Come on, let's have some breakfast."

They ate their way through the little buffet as Harry opened his remaining gifts. There was a box of Chocolate Frogs from Hagrid, which Harry was put off from when Hermione pointed out that he'd probably have his _own_ collector card one day, which was just too weird to conceive; there was a strange-smelling aftershave from Ginny, that made Harry's head feel oddly dizzy when he sniffed it, and a box of wizard pranks from the Twins. Harry couldn't help but feel suspicious of all the Weasley gifts, which made his insides twist guiltily, but he resolved to have Dobby check over them later just to put his mind at ease.

The last set of gifts were all from Dumbledore. They were an assortment of strange and spindly equipment, of different chemical ingredients, of tools inscribed with markings that Harry couldn't read. And there was a sheet of green glass, engraved with lines and lines of ancient runes. Finally, there was a note, written in Dumbledore's familiar, swirly hand.

" _You could be my Apprentice, Harry. I need one. Happy birthday,_ " Harry read. "What do you think that means…and what is all this… _stuff_?"

"Ooh…ooh!" said Hermione excitedly. "His Apprentice…Harry, Dumbledore was a Master Alchemist! And if I'm not wildly mistaken, this equipment is all about that _Noblest Art_. Yes! Look! Pass me that, Harry!"

She was pointing at the thin sliver of green glass. Harry handed it to her. "What is it?"

"My Merlin!" she whispered, somewhat reverently, turning the thing over in her hands and tracing the runes with her fingertips. "Harry…do you know what this is?"

"No, not a clue. Enlighten me."

"If I'm right…it's an _Emerald Tablet_ …the founding document of alchemy!" Hermione breathed. "They're extremely rare…I mean, _mythically_ rare! Some people don't believe they are real at all. But here we are… _with_ one! My, this is thrilling. They are so rare…and _extraordinarily_ valuable. Dumbledore is showing incredible trust in you by giving you this, Harry."

Harry swallowed hard at that, and at Hermione's awestruck tone. "Okay. But what does it do?"

"It gives the instructions on how to carry out the alchemical process," Hermione explained. "You know…creating gold, The Elixir of Life and The Philosopher's Stone. Very few people are ever able to read it, and those that do are always very powerful sorcerers."

"Like Nicolas Flamel," Harry nodded.

"Like Flamel. And Dumbledore himself, of course," Hermione added. "Wow. This is very exciting, really. Tell me, Harry…can you read any of these runes?"

She turned the Tablet to Harry, but all he saw was a bunch of squiggles and odd markings. Though he couldn't deny they resonated with a sort of dormant energy, potent but subdued. He was drawn to them like a magnet.

"No, I cant read it," said Harry. "But I can _feel_ something from them."

"That's great, Harry! Really!" Hermione cried enthusiastically. "That's half the battle with a lot of advanced magic. It's more a _feel_ for these things, than simple spell casting. That's really positive, you know. It means you're an _adept_ \- a natural. I think we have to expect great things from this. From _you_."

She was looking at him so reverently that Harry shrank away from her gaze. He felt unworthy of the borderline adoration she was sending his way.

"I…I'm not sure about that," he stumbled out.

"Of course you're not," Hermione replied brightly. "But self-deprecation is sort of your thing. We'll see to that, don't worry. Apprenticing under Dumbledore…well, well. Say what you like about his actions towards you, but there's no doubting his power. Pay close attention to him, Harry…learn what you can…I'm not sure what his agenda is, but the closer we are to it the better."

"Agenda? You still think Dumbledore has an _agenda_? Even after he's given me all this stuff?"

"Yes," said Hermione, so firmly that Harry felt floored by it. "His actions with you are so inconsistent…I don't like it. He could have enacted this with you years ago…why do it now? He's been passive when it comes to Voldemort…waiting till he regained his body and full strength before finally starting to act against him…why? I'm suspicious."

Harry considered her words a moment. He couldn't deny their merit, and she was the one person he relied on most in the world to deconstruct the fallacies before them. She was right about Voldemort influencing his mind last year, he wouldn't doubt her logic again.

"But what could he want…this is Dumbledore we're talking about," said Harry. "The most powerful wizard in the world."

"Most powerful…for now," said Hermione, her eyes twinkling at him. "But there's something going on. We need to be cautious."

Harry nodded. Then he looked over and spotted a letter poking out from the pile of discarded wrapping paper. "Hermione…what's that?"

"Oh, yeah," said Hermione, frowning. "This came with Dumbledore's presents…but it's _Ministry_ stamped. Here."

She passed Harry the letter, which he tore open in his curiosity. And his heart sank.

"What is it?" asked Hermione, noticing the turn of Harry's mood.

"It's from the Department of Magical Estates, and Gringotts," Harry replied quietly. "Sirius…it's about his Last Will and Testament. He…he left _everything_ to me, Hermione. His _entire_ estate…properties, gold, all his possessions…oh, Merlin… _his title!_ What…what does that mean?"

Hermione gasped. She took the letter from him and read quickly. "Oh... _Harry!_ Sirius was the last Black…his family line died with him, as he was childless. He's nominated you as his Heir…to the House of Black. An Ancient and Noble family…Harry - you've just become part of Magical _Aristocracy_! You'll have a seat on the Wizengamot, be part of magical politics. Oh my."

Harry gulped. "What the hell do I know about any of that?"

"Don't worry, don't panic," Hermione replied, thinking quickly. "You wont be allowed to legally sit on the Wizengamot until you are of age - seventeen - so you have a year to prepare. I'll help you. Well, I suppose it makes up my mind which elective study to take."

Harry looked at her in astonishment. "I…I can't ask you to do that…to make such a life choice for…for _me._ "

"Of course you can," Hermione smiled. "It's your birthday. Besides, I'm not having them use this as another tool against you, Harry. They are corrupt to the bone at Government level. I wont stand for them trying to manipulate you, tying you in knots with legal jargon. Ooh, those slimy bastards are going to get it. This could be a good thing, Harry…we have a _voice_ in Government! Think of the influence we could wield with it…the changes we can fight for…if you don't mind me getting carried away with this."

Harry just grinned at her, watching her eyes alight with fervour. If he was secretly terrified at what all this meant, he wasn't about to voice it out loud. Hermione was alive with energy, in high gear…and she looked devastatingly beautiful for it. Harry wouldn't take that away from her for all the gold in Gringotts.

Just so long as he was allowed to enjoy it in private.


	4. Promises, Promises

* * *

"You know, thinking about it, I really don't like that he knew I was staying with you."

Harry threw Hermione a burgundy jumper, which she began to fold, as he mused on this concern.

"I wouldn't worry about it," Hermione replied, stowing the jumper on a shelf in her wardrobe. "I imagine all our mail is going via The Order, or Dumbledore himself. They'll scan it, filter it for any sensitive information, then send it on once they're satisfied."

"I'm not sure I like _that_ situation very much more," said Harry, darkly.

Hermione frowned in agreement. They were in her bedroom, sorting through the machine-load of washing Hermione had done that morning, discussing the delicate issue of the Weasley's as they ploughed on with the task.

"It's a necessary evil," said Hermione after a moment. "It's the only way we'll get any mail, what with the Fidelius Charm and all the other components of my defence wards on the house. Ron may know you're staying with me, but he has no way of finding us, if that's what you're worried about."

"I just don't like the information being so easy to find out," said Harry.

"I imagine Dumbledore must have told the Order," said Hermione. "It's probably how Molly found out."

"And she would have told Ron, naturally," Harry nodded.

"They might even have held Order meetings at the Burrow," said Hermione. "Now that Grimmauld Place belongs to you, the stealth charms on it most likely have to be reactivated by the new owner. The Order members wouldn't be able to access the house."

"They can have it, if they want," said Harry moodily. "I don't want to go there ever again."

Hermione looked sadly at him. "I know. But you'll have to, even if its just once more…assuming you sell it. But I'd think carefully about that, if I were you."

"Why's that?"

"Harry, you're now the Heir to the House of Black," said Hermione. "Grimmauld Place is the _literal_ house of Black, the seat of the family. Who knows what kinds of spells and enchantments specific to the family can be found there. You might want to find out before you lose them."

Harry stared at her in amazement. "Hermione…the Black Family were Dark as hell! Why would I want their filthy spells?"

"I'm not saying _you'd_ want them, Harry," said Hermione in her patient air. "But if there are bad things there, wouldn't you rather find them, so you can deal with them? There could be family magic, enchanted objects, who knows. These are the kinds of things we wouldn't want to fall into the wrong hands."

"I didn't think of that," said Harry. He took a breath. "Just another thing I don't want to have to face."

He threw Hermione a skirt that he'd never seen her wear. It looked like it wouldn't reach her knees. The idea pooled guiltily in his belly.

"Are you worried? About the inheritance, I mean?" asked Hermione.

Harry sighed and nodded. "I have no idea what it all means, really. It's never occurred to me to find out more…and I really should have, shouldn't I? Do you think I'm lazy…as bad as Ron?"

Hermione snorted. "No, not as bad as Ron. But he isn't the best influence on you."

"You should be ashamed of me, of being my friend," said Harry grumpily. He threw Hermione a blouse in his frustration at himself. "I would be, if I were you."

"I'm actually very _proud_ to be your friend," Hermione corrected. "Your b-best friend, as you said."

"I don't deserve that," said Harry. "After how I've been. I've let myself down, and let you down, too. You've only ever tried to steer me right. I'll make it up to you, Hermione, I promise."

"You don't have to make anything up on _my_ account," Hermione returned, heat rising to her cheeks. "In any case, I take you for who you are, not who you've been. You've done a lot of maturing recently. It's been forced on you, but I think you're coping with everything really well."

"You do?" asked Harry. "Moaning and whining and crying is coping, is it?"

"Yes, it is," Hermione replied evenly. "You could be bottling it up as you normally do, then exploding on everyone. This is a much healthier way of dealing with all that's happened."

"I have you to thank for that. But I shouldn't have burdened you with all my shite."

"I'm glad you did," said Hermione, a little shyly. "It's…quite something…that you feel comfortable enough with me to open up about things that are, well, so _intimate_. And with _just_ me."

Harry shifted in his place on the bed, shaken by a sudden surge of tenderness he felt blooming in his chest. He considered Hermione's words and felt blindingly thankful that it _was_ just her he was unloading on. Even if the threat of treachery hadn't umbrella'd over the Weasleys, Harry felt pretty certain he'd have never been able to discuss his problems with Ron the way he had with Hermione over the past weeks, nor that Ron would have been anything like as compassionate and caring in response, as Hermione had been.

And Harry was hit by a wave of emotion for Hermione so powerful that he was afraid he might lose consciousness at it. He had to brace himself against the bed with his hand, to prevent him falling into the uncertain waters that had suddenly pooled beneath him. Something important was happening, changing, but Harry couldn't put a name to it.

Or, perhaps, he was a little bit afraid to. This was dangerous territory.

"T-thank you…just for listening," Harry stumbled out. His mouth was as arid as the desert. "You always seem to. I…I don't know…no-one ever really _talks_ to me like you do. About private things, you know."

"Oh." said Hermione, turning her eyes to the floor. She sounded like she was being told off. She chewed on her bottom lip guiltily as a tense atmosphere threatened to rise in the room.

"No, no…I didn't mean it like that, like it was a bad thing," said Harry quickly. "I just meant that…no-one seems to _care_ …about the other side of me. Even Ron, really. It's my name and my scar and the things I've done. My bloody legend. No-one bothers about any other part of me, and, to be honest, I wouldn't like it if they did. But, when it's you, I don't know…I don't mind. I could never be as open with Ron as I am with you. The idea is actually laughable."

"But you're okay when it's with me?" Hermione asked, cautiously.

Harry nodded, looking anywhere but at Hermione's face. The shame of _needing_ to open up…of needing _her_ so cripplingly _…_ was swarming like angry bees in his belly.

"Yeah. Normally I don't like people prying or asking personal stuff, but with you it's sort of… _easy_. I think I trust you more than anyone I've ever known."

He was lying, he was aware of that. He didn't _think_ it at all - he _knew_ it, just as much as he knew the feel of sunlight or the colour red. But it seemed a bit much to declare all of that.

Hermione, for her part, was just beaming at him with watery eyes. She offered a breathy _'oh,'_ by way of response, then held out a hand for another item to clothing to fold, hastily brushing at a tear which had made a break along her cheek.

Harry didn't push the point, too distracted by the confusing chaos in his body to have room for much else. He reached into the washing basket for the next garment…then froze in startled shock. The pause at least halted the growth of the weird ambience of the air…which was shattered a moment later as Hermione erupted into a peel of wild giggles.

"Oh, _Harry_!" she laughed. "You look like a rabbit caught in the headlights! It's just _clothing_."

Only it wasn't. Technically, Hermione was right, but as Harry sat there with a pair of her knickers dangling from his fingers, he felt her definition sadly lacking in gravitas. For a moment, Harry felt oddly transfixed by this piece of Hermione's underwear, spending a fraction too long just staring at it. Then he came to his senses and quickly tossed them to her, as if they'd suddenly caught fire and burned him. Hermione continued to laugh as she caught them, which gave Harry a handy few seconds to readjust his jeans, within which an inappropriate riot had kicked off.

"Why are boys so terrified by girls' pants?" Hermione giggled. "I remember Ron being horrified last Summer that one of Ginny's bras had gotten muddled up with his own clothing. He point blank refused to touch it…I think he'd have rather smoothed an Acromantula!"

"Well…it's because they are _private_ , I suppose," Harry choked out, his face like an inferno. "Boys aren't supposed to see, unless…well, _you know_."

"It's still just fabric, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "No different to yours…o-or anyone else's."

Hermione added the last bit as a slightly desperate afterthought, as though mortified that she might have given Harry the impression that _she_ was thinking about _his_ underwear...or its contents. That ignited wild flutterings below Harry's belt and the strain on his groin grew more pronounced. He felt it might be hours before it was safe to move.

"I'd like to think my underwear wasn't quite so… _lacy,"_ Harry quirked.

Hermione blushed as she considered the sky blue garment still in her hands. "Let me guess - you had me down as a plain, white-cotton-knickers type of girl?"

"I-I c-can't say I've ever really t-thought about it," Harry stuttered. He was unreasonably nervous all of a sudden, and he fought to regain his composure. "But, actually, yeah. Now you mention it. I wouldn't have thought _frilly_ would have been your thing."

Hermione laughed at that. "I can't say I blame you. I don't exactly come across as _girly,_ do I? Ron didn't notice I was a girl till we'd known each other for four years, but then he does have the emotional range of a contact lens."

"I thought it was a teaspoon?" Harry chuckled.

"I decided I was doing a disservice to teaspoons," Hermione replied, lightly. "I'm probably doing a disservice to contact lenses, too. But no, I like soft fabric against my skin as much as the next girl."

That image set Harry's mind - and loins - aflame. Hermione's skin…in secret places…with lacy fabric brushing up against it…he wasn't _allowed_ to think about that sort of thing. Not with _her_. But here she was, bringing it up. Was she _letting_ him? Harry felt delinquent for even touching on the concept. Then he wondered…why hadn't he _before_? Hermione was his closest female friend, and as much of a female as the next girl

But he'd never allowed himself to see her like this before. It was as if she was above such things as sexual attractiveness. He certainly wouldn't have besmirched her honour by discussing her with Ron and the Top Dorm Boys, the way they did other girls at the school. The idea of the other boys discussing Hermione's looks and her body actually made Harry physically repulsed, angry even. That was an odd response.

"I actually prefer French knickers like these," said Hermione, assessing the underwear in her hands, blissfully unaware of the firestorm she was causing in Harry's mind. "I have a few thongs, too, but there's not much call for them at school. Our uniform robes aren't exactly figure-hugging…"

"Hermione, please, can we talk about something else?" Harry moaned as a plea.

Hermione understood instantly, her expression flashing in surprise, some new energy dancing in all her features. She nodded apologetically, then she did something that literally took Harry's breath away.

She flicked her eyes downward, just for a glance, but it was unashamedly unsubtle. It was a reflex, Harry knew that she couldn't help it. She was curious and Harry found, much to his surprise, that he didn't mind her looking at all. In fact, if he'd been feeling a little more bold, he might have outright given her permission to stare. But before he could say anything Hermione pulled her eyes away, moistening her lips as she did do. The momentary flash of pink, that was her tongue, rendered Harry practically inert for a good thirty seconds.

Something was going on, something that was making Harry deeply uncomfortable. But he wasn't entirely sure this was a bad thing. His mind was overwrought, he was having a difficult time distinguishing nerves from excitement. He needed to change the subject, he almost _missed_ his darkness. The world was easier there. He tried to turn his mind it - Sirius, the War, Voldemort…but all this did was make him deeply angry. There was a threat in the world, but Harry didn't feel it against _himself,_ that wasn't the reason for his stoked up rage.

It was because it was against _her_ …against _Hermione._ Harry was flooded with a desperate imperative to protect her from everything…her above anyone else. It was dizzying.

Hermione noticed the change in his mood. She eyed him warily. "Harry…you okay?"

"Where do you think he is, Hermione?" Harry asked quietly. "What do you think he's doing?"

"Do you mean Voldemort?" Hermione returned, her air calm but serious. Harry nodded to her question. "I couldn't guess where he might be, but as for what he might be doing…I think we can safely assume he's plotting a way to get to you."

She said this so matter-of-factly that Harry felt his jaw drop. "You really think that?"

"It's fairly obvious, don't you think? He has a blood feud with you, not just because of the prophecy, but because you defied him by becoming the _Boy-Who-Lived_. People will see you as a banner to rally around. He can't have that. I'd wager that he places killing you above taking over the Ministry of Magic at this point."

"Wow…I didn't think you'd put it so…bluntly," said Harry, bringing his hand up to pull anxiously on his messy hair.

Hermione simply shrugged. "Like you said, it's your future, whether we like it or not."

The inference of _we_ steeled Harry against his fell task. He was immensely thankful for Hermione just then.

"But it's good that it seems like steps are finally going to be taken to prepare you," Hermione went on. "All this passivity…makes you wonder whether everyone's been sleepwalking all these years."

"At least it's finally happening…or it will be," said Harry.

"I think we ought to pick up a whole load of advanced textbooks when we go to Diagon Alley for our school stuff next week," Hermione pondered. "Books on advanced charms and curses, that sort of thing. No use pussy-footing around the issue. I can't see a Tickling Charm or Jelly-Legs Curse holding much weight against the defensive spells a Death Eater will know, can you?"

"No, not really," Harry agreed. "I've been thinking about working on my Slicing and Severing Charms, on Blasting Hexes, too. They're not specifically designed to be used on _people,_ but I can't see that they _wouldn't_ work."

"No, it's a solid idea," said Hermione. "I'll go over the spell definitions in the _Standard Book of Spells_ , see if we can adapt it for combat. It'd be nice to take a limb from one of those bastards."

"Wow, Hermione!" Harry breathed reverently. "Where has this aggression come from?"

"Just annoyance, Harry!" Hermione cried. "We've lived under the shadow of Voldemort's return ever since Quirrell…and others knew before, for much longer. It got me thinking…why didn't anyone try and finish him? He told you himself he was less than spirit, less than a ghost…I've been spending a lot of time wondering what that means. What could he have been that not only escaped, but survived? What other form of existence could he have had?"

"And? What have you come up with?"

"Nothing so far, but I'm determined to find out," Hermione replied. "It's bound to be dark as hell, but what else should we expect? In any case, his Death Eaters facilitated his return. I'd like to think we can make them regret that, regret picking a fight with you. They should know when they are outmatched."

Harry stared at her, agape. Her certainty in his superiority was astonishing. Not for the first time did Harry Potter recognise that Hermione Granger would make a formidable enemy. He was just glad she was on his side.

* * *

For the only time she could remember, _The Leaky Cauldron_ was empty. It was this stark image, more than any imagined horror, that really drove the truth of the state of the world home to Hermione, as she stepped out of the Floo Fire into the silent pub. Without thinking, she reached for Harry's hand on instinct. He took it, almost as though meeting her halfway, and squeezed in shared understanding.

The world had most definitely changed. Even the Grangers noticed.

"My, my," said David. "I thought we had the wrong place for a moment. It's _dead_ in here."

"Tell me something I don't know," said Tom, the toothy old barman. "Then tell me you're having a drink…I could certainly use the custom."

"Well, I suppose one wouldn't hurt," said David, eyeing his wife hopefully. "It is nearly lunchtime."

"Okay, but just a quick one," Catrin conceded. "We can always come back later…if the place is still open."

Hermione led her parents to a booth table while Harry ordered two Butterbeers, a pint of Goblin Ale and a small glass of pinot noir, paying before anyone had a chance to step in ahead of him. They drank in silence awhile, all observing the sombre, funeral-like atmosphere pervading the air. It seemed indecent to even speak, but eventually Hermione's father took up the mantle.

"I had no idea it was this… _serious_ ," he said. "I suppose Magical War is just as surreal to us as most other aspects of this world…as though it's barely real at all."

"Oh, it's very real, sir," said Harry. "I know, I've fought the Dark Wizard behind it. And believe me, if _I_ could hide myself away I probably would, too."

"And why can't you?" asked Catrin. "We seem fairly safe at home…why not just stay there?"

"Because Harry isn't a coward," said Hermione, with so much passion that even Harry's eyebrows tried to take off, such was his surprise. But Hermione was unabashed. "Evil flourishes when good people do nothing. Harry isn't the sort to shy away while others put themselves in danger…and neither am I."

She gave Harry an encouraging smile, but he was blushing so shyly that he had looked down at his Butterbeer in humble modesty. He looked unbearable cute when he was being so reticent.

"In any case, the Dark Wizard in question has a personal interest in Harry," Hermione went on. "A very _Dark_ personal interest. If we stay put too long, he'll find us."

"But when you go back to school, he'll know _exactly_ where you are," David pointed out. "What's to stop him just coming right for you?"

"He may," said Harry, simply. "But Hogwarts is an enchanted fortress, heavily defended. The teachers are all extremely powerful and this is enhanced when they are on school territory. Their magical potential mixes with that of the school, and multiplies by a measure of degrees. It says so in _Hogwarts: A History_."

Hermione practically spat out her mouthful of Butterbeer. "You've actually _read_ it?"

"Just the once," Harry grinned at her. "You were raging about it…I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about."

"And?"

"It was alright."

"Alright…? _Alright!"_ Hermione cried, deeply affronted. "It's the _best_ book ever! It's got -"

"A history of the school, I know," said Harry, raising his hand to silence Hermione mid-rant. "And it's all very interesting. But, apparently, the teachers - the _proper_ ones - get a power increase as a job perk. This increases as a Head of House, so it can be an appealing career choice.

"So the teachers are all pretty powerful. Then there's the Headmaster, himself, and he's the only one Lord Voldemort is afraid of."

"Voldemort…sounds French," said Catrin. " _Flight from Death_ would be a loose translation. I suppose that's pretty creepy…for a wizard dictator."

Hermione's brow furrowed. She thought hard… _flight from death, flight from death_ …is _that_ was this was?… was Tom Riddle somehow trying to avoid _death_ itself? Was that how he was able to be resurrected? It certainly made sense that he would want to be immortal. But how did a wizard go about achieving _actual_ immortality? It smacked of the Darkest magic Hermione had ever come across in her studies - Necromancy…Death Magic. She had no clue how this might be achieved, but she had a working idea, a theory. For now, it just happened to fit the facts, but it was somewhere to start.

Hermione bit her tongue, deciding against blurting out that Tom Riddle might somehow be immortal. She rather felt Harry had enough on his plate, without adding this ugly little possibility on top of it. Luckily for her, an interruption diverted all their attentions.

"Wotcher, Harry! Hi, Hermione. You guys okay?"

Nymphadora Tonks had slid up to their table, her hair a rather subdued shade of brown today.

"Tonks!" Harry exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"And why's your hair so dull?" Hermione asked.

"Don't mention the hair, it's a sore subject," the rolling baritone of Kingsley Shacklebolt replied, as he appeared at Tonks' shoulder. "We just felt it better to draw as little attention to ourselves as possible today."

"Hello, Kingsley. Why? What's going on?" asked Harry, his voice laced with concern.

Hermione sort of _sensed_ Harry's magic as it suddenly stirred in him, and the force of it startled her. She'd never felt his magical energy manifest like that before. She wondered if it was because of his wand, magically Disillusioned in his wrist holster. The wand-holder was imbibed with the spell, but Hermione felt it might be a useful Charm to learn when they returned to school. As it was, Harry's magic rolled off him like a storm surge, coating them all as it passed. It made the skin prickle under Hermione's high-collared shirt. She drew in an astonished breath as it did…she _liked_ that… _really_ liked it. She wondered if she could get Harry to do it again. Then she blushed.

For she realised, with a shuddering jolt, that the feeling was distinctly _erotic_.

Perhaps not the best thing to explore with her parents sat opposite them. She made a mental note for later, with _later,_ in this case _,_ meaning that undefined time when Hermione finally found the courage to confess to Harry about her feelings for him…and the ones he was increasingly suggesting he had for her. It was such a delicious, torturous tease. Nothing frightened Hermione quite as much as the thought of confronting it head-on.

"Nothing's going on," said Kingsley. "Apart from the War, obviously. Dumbledore assigned us to shadow you today. He had the feeling you wouldn't take his suggestion to stay home and buy all your supplies via Owl-Order."

"I won't be a prisoner in my own home, Mr. Shacklebolt," said Hermione stoutly. "And I won't let Harry be, either. If we give up our freedoms we are letting them win already, don't you agree?"

"Your courage is admirable, Miss Granger," Kingsley smiled fondly. "The Auror Office could always use that sort of spirit, should your career path take you that way."

"I don't think I like the idea of you being a Wizard Soldier," Catrin frowned.

"No, me neither," Harry added, looking surprised and impressed that Hermione's mother had some understanding of the role of an Auror.

"Oh, don't worry, I have no intention of becoming an Auror," said Hermione off-handedly. "No offence, Mr. Shacklebolt, but I'd prefer to be in a position to _oversee_ your Department, rather than be a part of it. Thank you for the offer, though."

"Well, it still stands, should you change your mind," said Kingsley, kindly. "Now, what is your itinerary for the day?"

"We have to buy our school supplies, so all the usual shops for that," said Hermione. "And Harry and I would like to visit the Magical Menagerie for some pet treats for our familiars. And, I suppose we'd better visit the Twins joke shop. Harry…are you going to drag me to _Quality Quidditch Supplies_ as normal?"

Tonks snickered out a laugh and looked at them fondly…as though they were a long-suffering _couple_. Harry picked up on that, too, but rather than being embarrassed simply grinned at Hermione, sending a flock of butterflies to flight in her chest.

"No, we don't have to go there," said Harry. "But I do want you to come with me to Gringotts…and _only_ you."

"Why? We already have enough gold on us for the shopping," said Hermione, suddenly suspicious. Harry had that shrewd look on his face…the one he always wore when he was _up to something._

"I have a meeting with the goblins there," said Harry. "It's private."

"But you want _me_ to come?"

"Yes."

It was clear Harry wasn't going to give anything away. Not to Tonks and Kingsley, not even to her parents. He was scheming…and it involved _her_. And only her.

"In fact, the meeting is at one p.m. We'd better get moving. Dobby!"

The elf popped into view behind Harry. He'd been there the whole time, invisible. But he had been tasked with sweeping the area for threats and Harry didn't know exactly where he was.

"Master Harry Potter," said Dobby. "The pub be's safe. What does you want Dobby to do?"

"Watch over Mr. and Mrs. Granger," said Harry. "They don't have to remain in the pub, but I'd like you to stay with them wherever they go, and be prepared to get them to safety if anything happens."

"Is…is that likely?" asked David.

Hermione huffed out a frustrated breath. "I told you both about this. Harry is being _actively_ targeted by Voldemort." She huffed angrily again as Tonks and Shacklebolt visibly paled at the use of Tom Riddle's pseudonym. "Oh, _come on!_ You're _Aurors!_ Grow a pair, will you?"

Harry hooted out a laugh at that and gave Hermione an encouraging wink.

"Anyway," Hermione continued, flushing slightly. "Harry is under threat. Voldemort is likely to try any means to get to him, including lining up his friends and loved ones and torturing them until Harry gives himself up."

"Or some enterprising traitor turns me in," Harry added darkly.

"And you're on that list?" asked David, scrutinising Hermione.

"Probably near the very top," said Tonks. "It's reasonably well known that Harry only has a couple of really close friends. And there were all those stories a couple of years ago…about Hermione being Harry's steady _girlfriend_ …"

"Tonks!" Hermione cried, scandalised.

" _Steady girlfriend_?" asked Catrin, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Why, Hermione…you sly little thing. You never said!"

"It was just newspaper gossip," said Harry, whose cheeks were bright red. He kept flashing nervous little glances at David, causing Hermione to bite back a laugh. Harry Potter, preparing to fight the world's Darkest Wizard to the death…but _terrified_ of David Granger, Muggle, father of his closest female friend, a witch he was now being _accused_ of dating right in front of him. Harry looked like he'd prefer to duel Tom Riddle with a feather duster instead of his wand, rather than answer the questioning looks David was sending his way just now.

"Yeah, it was just a slew of nasty rumours to fill the scandal columns, when Harry was competing in an Inter-Schools Magical Tournament," said Hermione eventually, trying to ignore the disappointment that was nudging into her stomach. The idea of being Harry's _steady girlfriend_ was quite something. It had been at the time, and very little had changed on that score. Including the _actual_ nature of their relationship, much to Hermione's burgeoning chagrin.

"So…you _aren't_ dating?" asked Tonks. She seemed genuinely surprised.

"No, we're just friends," said Harry. "Best friends, though."

Hermione sniffed to hide a gasp that wanted to escape her throat. Was that _disappointment_ she'd just heard in Harry's voice? It can't have been. She was just putting things there she wanted to hear. She was getting delusional, letting herself believe anything. She needed to get more sleep. That would be it. Still, her heart had left her chest was doing wild cartwheels throughout her body. It was somewhere around her waist currently.

"Huh," said Tonks, shrugging her shoulders. She looked between Harry and Hermione curiously. It was a distance decidedly _short,_ Hermione realised. She and Harry were sat _very_ close together. When had that happened? Had they always been like it? Hermione couldn't remember. All she knew was that she was comfier than she'd ever likely have the courage to admit.

"So, you aren't dating…but Hermione's still in danger?" asked David.

Harry nodded, then his expression seemed to visibly harden. "I can't, and I _won't_ , apologise for being Hermione's friend, nor for accepting the gift of her friendship in return. And that's how I see it, Mr. Granger…as a _gift_. The fact that a Dark Wizard would use that as a weapon against me fills me with unspeakable guilt and worry…but it's also the stupidest thing he could do. If he threatens her, I'll put him down. I make no apologies for that, either. I have a power he knows nothing about…and I'll unleash it upon him if he positions himself as a threat to Hermione."

Then Harry looked at her with such fierce emotion and undoubted affection that Hermione felt her breath catch in her lungs. Her heart, she hoped, would remember it needed to beat if she was to stay alive. And she was _so_ determined to…if only to get Harry to properly explain what such an earth-shaking declaration actually meant…in terms she couldn't misconstrue.

"I see," said David, exchanging a knowing look with his wife. "If that's the case, I'm happy enough. Just…stay with her, won't you, Harry? Look after my little girl."

"I won't leave her, sir," said Harry. "So long as she's happy to have me around."

Hermione had lost the power of speech or coherent thought. What in the name of Merlin was going on? If she was of a sensible mind, Hermione would have thought her father was giving his _blessing_ to Harry…for something Hermione daren't even hope for. But that was certainly how it had seemed.

But Hermione's mind was the most _un_ -sensible it had ever been, so she found it difficult to accept any of it.

Luckily for Hermione, motion stirred her from her convoluted thoughts. Harry was up and moving towards the exit, and Hermione fell into stride alongside him. It was just their habit. But she found it hard to look at him without blushing, or grinning like an idiot. She had to get a grip on herself.

"A meeting at the bank?" she whispered. Tonks and Kingsley were some way behind them, but Hermione felt gripped with the same sort of paranoia that seemed to have settled on Harry. She imagined all sorts of Eavesdropping spells being cast on them, so she spoke as quietly as she could. "You never said."

"I had Dobby set it up," Harry explained. "I want to get this inheritance business sorted as quickly as possible. And I have a favour to ask of you, but I'd rather wait till we're in the security of the bank before I drop it on you."

Hermione huffed. "So I cant refuse, you mean?"

Harry grinned at her. "Do you really think I'm so devious?"

"Yes, I do!"

"You're probably right," said Harry. "The Sorting Hat did consider me for Slytherin, you know."

"I didn't know, but that's interesting, isn't it? I was considered for Ravenclaw, actually."

"That would make a lot of sense, what with that big, brilliant brain of yours," said Harry, nodding sagely. "I…er…I'm glad it chose you for Gryffindor in the end."

Hermione grinned at Harry's shy colouring. "Same here. For you, I mean. Imagine being best friends with a _Slytherin_ …I don't think I could have borne it. Urgh…you might have ended up best friends with Malfoy! You wouldn't have been trying to _defeat_ a Dark Lord…you might have been trying to _take the place_ of one."

"Who says I'm not?" Harry smirked, teasingly. "I'm very evil, I'll have you know."

"I do know, you've been trying to give me heart attacks during your Quidditch matches for five years!"

"Damn, I didn't think you'd noticed that! My _true_ intention!" said Harry, nudging Hermione with his shoulder.

"You'd better _not_ have been doing that on purpose, Harry," said Hermione. "I will literally feed your Firebolt to the Common Room fire if I find out you have."

"You do what you have to do," said Harry. "I'm about to become _seriously_ wealthy _._ I'll just buy the newest model."

Hermione shook her head at him and let him lead her up the marble steps to the bank. At the top, Harry turned to their entourage.

"I'd prefer it if you don't come in," he said firmly. "I literally give zero Merlins about what Dumbledore has ordered you to do, or what he'll say. This is a private matter, between me and the bank. And Hermione. But that's none of your business. It's no-one's but ours…and even she doesn't know what it is yet. So, guard the doors all you like. But don't follow us in…or I'll be _very_ cross."

Hermione was startled by Harry's strong words and stony tone. He meant every syllable. Hermione had to wonder if he really _did_ have some special, secret power he'd not divulged to her. Even if he didn't, he gave a good impression that he _did_. Hermione, herself, even felt wary of the threat laced delicately in his words.

"Very well, we shall wait here," said Kingsley.

"Thank you," said Harry, before bowing Hermione into the bank.

Ten minutes later and Hermione found herself sat in a plush meeting room that had been set up prior to their arrival. Harry had maintained a blanket silence and refused her entreaties, both spoken and unspoken, for an explanation. Hermione knew the answers would reveal themselves in good time, but she was deeply curious to find out what was going on.

Presently, a goblin called Arngor joined them in the room. He introduced himself as the account manager for the Potter family, then ran them through the formalities of the absorption of the Black Family estate into the Potter vaults. They had become _plural_ such was the vast wealth of the Blacks. And the absorption didn't end there.

"As the deceased Lord Sirius Black left no children, and nominated you as his Heir, Mr. Potter," said Arngor, "the Black Family line will cease to exist as of this day. The House of Potter, with this merger, will be reclassified as an Ancient and Noble House, with yourself as the patriarch of the Family. From this day you will be formally recognised as _Lord Harry Potter_."

Hermione gasped aloud, but the goblin was far from finished.

"However, the Blacks also inherited the title of Marquess of Bute through marriage. Despite the Scottish county being lost during the Jacobite rebellion, and subsequently being gifted elsewhere by the Monarch of Great Britain, the Bute family purchased virtually the entire of the Southern territory of Wales. As such, when you turn seventeen, Lord Potter, the title of _Earl of Glamorgan_ will be conferred upon you. With your permission, I can research the loss of the County of Bute to your estate. If it was deemed unlawful theft, it could be restored to you…effectively making you a Duke, such is the vastness of the area you will own."

"Wow, Harry!" Hermione breathed.

"Go ahead," said Harry. "But…how does this all work? I can't claim my titles, but they seem fair game to challenges without me."

"This is true," said Arngor. "My suggestion would be to appoint a Regent - a trusted adult who can act in your stead until you are ready to take up your role. Such a person could protect your interests."

Harry frowned. "I don't think I trust the adults in my life enough for that. Arngor…have you always been the Potter account manager?"

"Yes, for over twenty years," the goblin confirmed. "Why do you ask?"

"I was raised by my Muggle relatives until I was eleven," said Harry. "I had no idea about the vaults of gold hidden beneath London, and I didn't get my key until my first visit. A giant called Hagrid was in possession of it."

"But not _guardianship,"_ said Arngor swarthily. "Hagrid wasn't the Keeper of that _particular_ key…and the one who was attempted to access your vault several times."

"And who was that? Can you say?"

"Of course, it is your account," said Arngor. "We take client confidentiality and security very seriously."

"Then who was it?" Harry pressed.

"Albus Dumbledore."

Harry looked floored. Hermione felt her stomach fall into her feet. Dumbledore…had tried to access Harry's vault… _several times_? But why? Harry asked the very question.

"We never asked," said Arngor. "We gave a flat 'no' to each request and Professor Dumbledore went away, but he was very persistent. Even after his accession to Supreme Mugwhump he still had no authority over the rules of Gringotts."

"Thank you," said Harry. "For protecting my interests, and whatever it was Dumbledore was looking for in my vault. There are things in there, besides gold, aren't there? Powerful things."

"How perceptive…for a human," Arngor smirked.

"Please, continue to keep them safe," said Harry. "I will look into the possibility of a Regent. In the meantime, I have a request to make."

"Which is?"

"You need to realise, Arngor, that I am in a stupidly dangerous situation in my life," said Harry. "I want to make sure no-one but me - or someone I trust - can enter my vault."

He flicked a look at Hermione, who sucked in a stunned breath. What was he about to suggest?

"I also want to make sure that if anything happens to me, my wealth goes to a nominated person of my choice," Harry continued. "Is that possible?"

"Of course, though such things are usually reserved for a _spouse…_ or children," said the goblin.

"Usually." Harry repeated. The goblin nodded. "I don't have the luxury of waiting for such joys. Can it still be done?"

"Yes. So long as the party concerned is willing to partake in a simple blood oath. The vault will refuse to open to anyone not of that blood…and will recognise attempts to open under duress. The other stipulation is that large-scale use of the gold - for investment or other Capital spends - can only be authorised by the willing agreement of both parties. Did you have such a person in mind?"

Harry gave Hermione a warm, inviting look. She lost her breath at what he was offering, cognizant of the magnitude of it.

"Well…" he asked quietly. "What do you think?"

"You…you do know what you're doing, don't you? Under the law?" Hermione hushed back.

"I've a fair idea," Harry grinned. "And I'm 100% sure about it. I trust you more than anyone…help protect my interests? In return, my gold is yours for whatever good causes you set your heart on. Just leave me enough for that new broom we were talking about!"

"Oh, Harry! If you're sure…"

"More than anything," Harry replied. "You're okay with the ritual? What…er…is it, exactly?"

"Little more than a small blood seal on the rune stones protecting the vault," said Arngor. "As well as signing the new document with a blood quill. It should take less than half an hour, and while you visit your new vaults, we will have our Goblin Smith fashion you new rings for your titles and vault access. I suggest melting down the physical key and re-forging it as a pair of rings. We can cast a charm to prevent them being removed from your fingers and they will channel your intent, so the vaults cannot be opened without your explicit consent. May I also suggest detection charms that will alert you to threats…potioning and poisoning are commonplace among enterprising thieves…as well as spells written into letters…the Dark Arts are many and varied, Lord Potter…"

* * *

True to his word, the goblin was bowing Harry and Hermione out of the doors half an hour later, into the bright sunshine of Diagon Alley. Harry thought it only polite to apologise to Tonks and Kingsley for the wait, but he didn't really mean it. It wasn't his fault that they'd been detailed to shadow him. He led Hermione down the steps to begin their shopping, still grinning at the ceremony to claim their vault rings.

For it had felt an awful lot like a wedding, and Harry's thoughts had fixated on that idea ever since.

He let it tip-toe through him as Hermione ordered both of their sets of potion supplies, and as she debated between dragon and basilisk hide for her new Herbology gloves. Then it all out consumed him, as they dallied in Flourish and Blotts. Hermione was in her element, happiest either here or the Hogwarts library, surrounded by more books that even she could ever read. She was lost in her fervour, energized and happy. Harry had never fully appreciated how much Hermione loved being in this environment, or the wonderful glow it gave to her face. It had always been a quirk, something to mock under Ron's grumpy prompting. But this was where his best friend was her most comfortable, and Harry loved seeing her in this state.

He made a mental note to kick Ron right in the bollocks when he saw him. Just because.

After all their shopping, Harry and Hermione flopped down in the sun outside Florean Fortesque's ice cream parlour, and Hermione fished the last Galleons from her little purple purse to treat them to the biggest sundaes on the menu. There were four chairs at the little round table, but Harry and Hermione gravitated towards seats next to each other. It meant that as they rested their bare forearms on the table to eat their sundaes, they were brought into skin-to-skin contact.

And neither made a movement to alter the arrangement.

Harry even had to eat left-handed as a result, but the idea of moving was akin to a crime against nature. He felt his heart in his throat before he even noticed that it had left his chest. Little sparks of electricity shot along his skin each time his arm made inadvertent movements against Hermione's, adding to the continual burning where they were constantly touching. Harry forgot what flavour his ice cream was supposed to be. He was only roused to still being awake by the abrupt arrival of Neville Longbottom at their table. He shot little glances between Harry and Hermione, the rings on their fingers and their touching arms. He sat down with a shrewd grin on his face.

"Fancy meeting you here, guys," he said, ordering a pecan and banana split as Florean walked by the table. "I didn't think I'd see you before school."

"Same," said Harry. "I half thought there'd be loads who wouldn't be going back, so maybe we'd not run into anyone at all."

"My Gran wouldn't have any of that," said Neville. "She brought me to buy my first wand. Wanna see?"

"Go for it," said Harry. Neville took a long, thin box from his bag and opened it up.

"Beech, ten inches, powdered Hippogriff claw as the core," Neville explained. "Old Ollivander said it's really rare to have the Hippogriff claw, so I must be a powerful wizard. I laughed…I didn't have it in me to say I'm the worst at Hogwarts."

"You aren't the worst," said Hermione, kindly. "You haven't had your own wand before. For all you know, that's why you've struggled a bit. You could find that magic starts to come more naturally now."

"Yeah," Harry added enthusiastically. "Apparently you never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

"Hmm, I've never had any problems with yours," said Hermione, turning curiously to Harry. "It's all worked well for me."

"You could probably cast spells _without_ a wand, to be fair," said Harry. "You're just brilliant like that."

"Harry." said Hermione shyly, curling her eyes down.

Neville grinned at them both. Harry shivered at the loaded look he was giving them both.

"What…you are," said Harry, perplexed.

"He's right, Hermione," Neville added. "You might as well just accept it. So…how's your Summer been?"

"Good…considering everything," said Harry.

"I'd have thought it would be awful," said Neville. "Aren't your Muggle relatives complete dicks?"

"Yeah, but I've been staying with Hermione this Summer," said Harry.

"Ahhh," said Neville, as though suddenly understanding a riddle. He just nodded at them with a look that plainly said, ' _that explains it_ '. Harry shuddered pleasantly again, but was too dense to realise why. "So, what're your plans?"

"Well, we've done our essentials," said Hermione. "So we think we ought to pay a visit to Weasley's Wheezes. Harry has an…er… _interest_ in the shop's success."

"I get you," said Neville. "An investment portfolio at sixteen? I might follow you, Harry. See if you can get me a cut. It's the only shop doing well right now."

Just then, there was a small cough nearby. Harry looked up to see a shockingly pretty girl standing at their table. She had eyes greener even than his own, skin like the finest porcelain, and sleek black hair that fell past her shoulders in shimmering waves. Harry braced himself for an autograph request or something, but the gorgeous girl turned away from him, and fixed her deep eyes on Neville instead.

"Excuse me, I don't mean to interrupt, but did I hear you say you're going to be a partner in Weasleys Wheezes? That's my _favourite_ shop."

The girl was _actually_ purring, and she couldn't take her eyes off Neville. He seemed stupefied, unsure of what to do. So Hermione stepped in.

"Yes, he's going to buy our shares off us," she said. "His name's Neville Longbottom and he's one of the most powerful sixth-year wizards at Hogwarts."

"You go to Hogwarts?" the girl asked. "That's great. Me and my friend, Celesca, are due to start this year. We've been home schooled by our witches coven, you see., but we have to go to formal school for our N.E.W.T's. My name's Enola, by the way. Enola Hart. Hey, Nev - can I call you Nev? Great - fancy giving me a tour of the Wheezes? I hear they have some fabulous love potions just new in."

Neville stood in something of a daze. Beautiful Enola curled her arm into his, motioned to her friend, standing awkwardly nearby, and they all made off along the alley, with Harry and Hermione struggling to keep up in their wake.


	5. Unfogging The Future

Hermione watched curiously as the odd scene played out in front of her. She was walking at Harry's side, casting him the odd glance and seeing his bemused expression mirroring her own. He was finding this slightly amusing, and the crinkle at his eyes was pleasing to see. For a moment, his ever-present darkness was gone, replaced instead by the mirth of a typical sixteen-year-old as he watched his hapless friend being mercilessly chatted-up by a pretty girl.

But there was good and bad with that.

For a start, Hermione was suspicious. She'd noticed the girls sat near them at the ice-cream parlour, where she'd tried to ignore the flicker of possessive jealousy as they looked over at their table. The idea that they might be eyeing Harry up stirred unreasonable anxiety in her. Harry was her best friend but nothing more, despite the obvious changes happening between them. He was a free agent, and if he wanted to court the attention of pretty girls, Hermione had no claim to stop him. Even if the thought did make her retch with the heart-sickness of it.

And these girls were undoubtedly pretty. The dark-haired one especially, though she seemed to have eyes only for Neville. The other was more of an understated beauty, though she was trying her best to make this hard to tell. She kept her blonde-haired head largely hidden beneath a deep hood, though every now and then she'd glance back at them - at Harry in particular - revealing startlingly expressive blue eyes. They were oddly watery - literally - with her irises looking fluid, like liquid. The effect was quite astonishing.

And Hermione decided instantly that she didn't like her, or her attention towards Harry.

She huffed at him just then, before chastising herself. It wasn't _his_ fault he was handsome, or that girls lavished attention on him. It was just one of those things. Hermione was as bad as the next girl in that respect, moreso probably. She often imagined that girls around Hogwarts were cool towards her for the very fact that she was so close to Harry, as though jealous of their intimacy. The thought made her smile. There were some seriously fit witches at Hogwarts, and they were envious of Hermione's closeness to the school's most illustrious personage.

These two new admirers would just have to fall into line behind the others.

But then there was the fact that they'd just popped out of nowhere. The dark connotations of such a convenience weren't lost on Hermione, and she felt that protective beast within her stir slowly from its slumber. There was a high chance it was a trick, a honey-trap. Harry would be lured by the beauty of one or the other and perhaps be led to his doom.

Hermione frowned at the idea, and slipped her arm into Harry's on reflex. He turned to her and grinned, causing a faint blush to rise with the heat from her chest. Harry curled his arm around hers in return, drawing her a little closer to him.

"You're worried…about those two," said Harry, nodding ahead of them.

"Yeah…I don't like it," Hermione replied with a frown.

"Which part?"

Hermione felt her breath hitch at the look Harry gave her, the insinuation of his tone. Hermione clucked her tongue, more at herself than him. Was she really so transparent?

"Oh, it's just that they've _happened_ to turn up when we are out and about, and vulnerable," cried Hermione, her breath a near-hiss. "Doesn't that seem strangely well-timed to you?"

"Well, you have a point," said Harry. "I mean…there aren't many others who would come _here_."

He gestured to the empty shopping district. Many shops were boarded up, some had windows smashed and had clearly been looted. There was no breeze. The only sounds were their own footsteps, and the tinkle of conversation from Neville and the girl, Enola, who seemed the chatty sort. Litter was piling in some corners, as though street maintenance had fallen by the wayside…people too afraid to even step out in public for work.

"See?" said Hermione, as if to emphasise her point. "I don't like it."

"But would you like it more if they were ugly?"

Harry teased her with a cheeky grin, playfully tugging on her arm. A warmth rushed to her heart at the sight. It was the Harry of last year for a moment, the one determined to thwart Umbridge, the one still energised by the promise of Sirius in an ever-approaching future. The lines of tension in his jaw and forehead were gone, his skin waxed and glowing, eyes sparkling with fun. He was so beautiful in that instant that Hermione's head swam at it.

And then she felt the strongest urge for Harry she'd ever had in her life…an urge to _kiss him_. Properly. Not a peck, not one for luck…one full on the mouth.

Hermione's breath left her in a startled rush. Harry either didn't notice, or misread it, as he simply laughed. He probably thought she was being her usual stubborn, exasperated self, where play had to be coaxed from her with persistent prompting. She felt grumpy with herself for that, for being wound so rubber-band tight that her moods and meanings could often get crossed and confused. She'd love nothing more than to indulge Harry and play with him, especially if their tongues might get involved.

 _"Hermione Jane Granger!"_ she thought to herself, scandalised. What a thing to think! But now she _had_ thought it, she found she couldn't _unthink_ such a forbidden concept. And she really didn't want to. There was just that something so desired in the very definition of it, that it spoke to Hermione like a universal truth, one she'd long trapped behind high walls and a Shield Charm. But now it was fighting to be free, encouraged by Harry's mild flirting.

But she was no good at this - boys and flirting and the like. Books were only so much help, they didn't give all the answers in this minefield. And she would sooner read _The Quibbler_ than _Witch Weekly_. Perhaps she could slip back to Flourish and Blotts and pick up the latest edition of the teen magazine, just on the off chance it might actually have something useful behind its glossy façade. Then she imagined trying to explain that to Harry and having him laugh at her, or else push for her real reason.

The thought made her turn cold with the very dread of it.

In any case, that would mean letting go of Harry's arm, which was as abhorrent an idea as she was capable of forming. She rather felt she might fall down if she let go, such were the weak flutterings behind her knees. So she simply battled to get her ragged breathing and racing pulse under control while Harry looking at her with an amused grin.

"You okay? Seems like I've lost you a minute."

"Oh…what?" Hermione stuttered. "Oh, sorry, Harry. My mind was wandering."

"That I can see," he quirked. "I've never seen you so… _dreamy_. You look like Luna."

Hermione scoffed. She wasn't sure whether to be insulted by that, or to chasten herself for being so cruel to a girl who had honestly started to grow on her at the end of last year. She, alone, had been unharmed in the Battle at the Department of Mysteries, and Harry had taken great pains to be friendly to her since then. She was hit with a pang of jealousy over that. Did Harry _fancy_ Luna? He might, Hermione couldn't say that Luna wasn't pretty, in her own quirky sort of way.

Hermione frowned, then decided she was going to curse Luna's cute little button nose off when she saw her next.

She shook these insane thoughts from her head and tried to drag herself back to the conversation.

"I was just thinking," said Hermione. "That it's best to be cautious with strangers. It could be a trap, Harry. I know you see that. And, yes, it is more suspicious that both girls are attractive."

"Even though neither seems remotely interested in me?" Harry pointed out fairly. "That girl…what did she say her name was? Enola?…she's all over Neville like a bad habit. And the other one just seems as curious as most people are around me. She probably just wants to see my scar."

"As long as that's _all_ she wants, I'm happy," said Hermione crossly.

"Y-you know, if I was mental, I'd say you sound j-jealous," Harry said, his voice an awkward half-laugh.

Hermione went to respond, then checked herself as her courage failed her. "I'm not jealous…just cautious."

"Oh."

Harry's face fell, and Hermione's heart went with it. Her response had been involuntary, a defence she'd used to girls at Hogwarts many times. She didn't want to let on about the disgustingly humiliating crush she'd developed for her best friend during their Second Year, which had refused to budge from her ever since. She'd have been teased mercilessly for it, on top of all the other things she had been teased for. So she developed this stock response.

And now she'd given it to Harry, and that little bubble of _something_ that had crept up on him was suddenly popped. _She'd_ popped it, and she hated herself for it. If she'd been more assured, she might have called it _hope_. But, whatever it was, it was gone now, and the old Harry returned. He loosened his grip on Hermione's arm slightly, the light in his eyes dying with a heaving breath, as his shoulders tensed and squared.

"Yeah…I suppose you're right. That's the best way to be."

Harry's words were heavy, and they pierced at Hermione's despairing heart. She'd _hurt_ him. She knew it, but she knew of no way to fix the damage. It was so unexpected that she was thrown, and she wasn't anything like brave enough to say what she _really_ wanted to. The words sounded hollow in her mind, as though fabricated just to try and make Harry feel better if she said them now.

And she screamed inside, every sinew of her body rioting against her and her silly, play-it-safe brain. She was restless and miserable, indefinably angry at herself. She was supposed to be _helping_ Harry; but now, though inadvertently, she felt she might have just made him worse.

"We should be equally cautious when we go inside," Harry went on, his voice chilled and serious. He was back on a war footing. "Percy has already gotten to Charlie, maybe to Ron and Ginny, too. Luckily, the Twins don't live at home anymore, but we still need to tread carefully."

Hermione nodded. She was biting her tongue too hard to be able to speak. She simply allowed Harry to bow her through the doors to _Weasleys Wizard Wheezes_ , which opened with the sort of noise you get when blowing the horn of a party streamer. She thought that would get very annoying after a time, but it was typical of the Twins' sense of humour.

Inside was a cacophony of chaos. Objects whirled and popped and revolved and shrieked, every shade of every colour seemed to have found a home in one corner or another, and there were indiscernible bangs and aromas that were drifting from all angles. Hermione felt her eyes water at the dizzying impact. It was borderline sensory overload.

"Well…this is…well…what is it?" Harry whispered, looking as overwhelmed as she.

Hermione simply shook her head. "It's Fred and George's insanity…made _flesh_!" she replied. "I don't think I like it."

"I'm with you on that!" Harry guffawed. "If I faint, you wont leave me to the wicked whims of others, will you?"

"I might just fall down and sleep _with_ you!" Hermione blurted out without thinking.

Harry's playfulness returned for a second. "Perhaps we should have a date first?"

"Harry Potter!" she admonished good-naturedly, blushing easily as brightly as the many glowing objects around them.

"That's not a _no_ then…"

But before Hermione could find the composure to respond, one of the Weasley twins had bounded up to them, clubbing Harry on the back.

"Ah, our _benefactor!_ Look! George…our Ben's here."

Harry grinned at Fred, whose gaze dropped briefly to Harry and Hermione's arms, which were still interlocked.

"We've taken to calling you _Ben,_ " Fred explained as his twin idled up. "To keep your secret identity, well, _secret_."

"Yeah, our Mum would make us give you back the start-up loan today, if she knew it had come from you in the first place," added George.

"And we will give it back."

"One day."

"Just not today?" Fred pleaded. "We're doing so well…we need to reinvest for supplies."

"I don't want the money back, just my share of the profits!" Harry teased. "I assume that would be a better return in the long-run, if this is any indication."

Harry gestured around with his free hand at the bustling people moving all about them.

"I'm sure we can sort something out," said George, somewhat evasively.

Hermione couldn't say she blamed the twins for their attitude. They'd spent their entire lives short of money, so it would represent quite the wrench to part with some so soon. Harry didn't seem too bothered, but Hermione was cross on his behalf. He'd given them such a generous gift, it was just the honourable thing to do to make him a silent partner in the thriving business. Hermione added the task to her _to-do-list._

"Have you…heard anything…from our brother?" asked Fred, a little tentatively. The atmosphere around them tautened suddenly. Hermione understood right away.

"Perhaps we shouldn't talk about it here," she whispered. "Do you have somewhere private we can go?"

Fred nodded. "Office. In the back. Automatically privacy-charmed. We had some snoop from Filibusters come round trying to steal the info on our new fireworks range. Thought we should be extra-vigilant, as old Mad-Eye would say."

"I'll go and tell Verity to mind the shop," said George. "Meet you in five."

"He just wants to talk to our first ever employee," said Fred, grinning mischievously. "I say _talk_ …but I really mean _swoon._ He's so sweet on her it gives me a tooth cavity just thinking about it. I've had to ban him from going anywhere near our Love Potions section."

"You have a Love Potions section?" asked Hermione, slightly disgusted. "Isn't that very irresponsible?"

"We only sell to witches of the right age," said Fred chirpily. "Don't worry, Hermione, we count you as the right age…if you're interested."

Hermione huffed crossly. "I don't need to use Love Potions, thank you very much."

"No…I can see that," Fred grinned, glancing again at her and Harry's conjoined arms. Embarrassed, Hermione let go, but made it look natural as they had just reached the office in the back of the shop. Fred showed them to seats just as George joined them and activated the privacy ward.

"There, that's better," he said. "Not even our Extendable Ears could get through _that_."

"Now then," said Harry firmly. "Tell us what you know."

Both Fred and George looked stunned by the bluntness of Harry's tone but Hermione swelled with defensive pride next to him. She hitched a stony look onto her own face, just to make it clear they weren't playing games, despite being in a joke shop.

"What do _you_ know?" asked Fred, sitting behind the desk.

"I'm not answering any questions till you do," Harry shot back. "If you're honest, and decent, and you know what I'm getting at, you'll have no problem telling the truth first. I have good reason to be suspicious."

"You're right, Harry," said George, propping himself against a filing cabinet in the corner. "We're sorry."

"And ashamed," added Fred.

"Not to mention humiliated and embarrassed on behalf of the whole family," George went on. "We've not spoken to Mum and Dad since all this blew up. We've told them Ron and Ginny are banned from the shop until they allow Dumbledore to test them for magical tampering."

"Which they are mightily unhappy with," said Fred. "Ron's being his usual git self about the whole thing; Ginny, well, she's been getting cagier as she gets older anyway. She's got so many boyfriends on the go we half-thought she'd been stealing love potions from us. We offered her a supply of contraceptive potions last time we saw her."

Hermione gawked in surprise at that. "Is that…necessary? Is she that _active_?"

George sighed in something like despair. "We know she was fairly intimate with that Michael Corner fellow, but then she started dating Dean Thomas. He's in your year, older than Ginny. He expects more. We overheard him at the beginning of Summer when he was on the Alley with Seamus Finnigan. His parents were applying to take him out of Hogwarts, due to the War and everything. He told Seamus he wanted to stay, as he'd just started sleeping with his new girlfriend."

"Then Ron let slip that Dean was seeing our Ginevra," Fred completed. "Can't say we blame the boy for not wanting to give up getting his end wet, even if it is with our sister. But we tackled Ginny about it. She told us she learned the Contraceptive Charm as things were getting pretty steamy with Corner. Less conspicuous than potions, but at least she's being careful."

"But that was before all this nonsense with Percy," said George. "Mum is adamant that he's innocent, but she's just blinded to the truth."

"Which is?" asked Harry.

"Percy has always been ambitious, and ashamed of his family," said Fred. "If he's become a Death Eater, or is trying to become one, then he'll use us all to get what he wants. He's driven, is our Perce. Like you, Hermione."

"Only less evil," George offered with a cheeky wink.

"He'll stop at nothing to get a bit of recognition," Fred continued. "We all saw that in the way he backed Umbridge and Fudge. We reckon he was just riding their coattails, aiming for a bigger prize. He got the chance with Charlie."

"Then you believe everything Dumbledore says about him?" asked Hermione.

"We know our brothers," said George, darkly.

"Our sister, too," added Fred.

"And we don't trust any of them as far as we can throw them," said George. "That's why we banned our youngest. We sell a lot of novelty items that could be… _perverted_ …into very useful weapons."

"Such as?" asked Harry.

"Love potions, patented daydream charms, other behavioural modification items," said Fred. "It's all for a bit of fun, but there is dangerous potential in the wrong hands. Someone could easily slip you a love potion, mate. You'd be enamoured with them. You'd be under the sway of the girl who did it."

"Or hit with a supply of Puking Pastilles," George chipped in. "Slip you one of them at night…you throw up in your throat and drown in your own vomit."

Hermione gasped in abject horror. She hadn't considered the terrifying prospects of things which, on the surface at least, seemed so innocent.

"I'd watch _everything_ you eat and drink when back at Hogwarts," Fred advised, sagely.

"And, for Merlin's sake, don't accept _anything_ from Ron or Ginny," said George. "They'd both be easy prey to Percy, especially if Charlie got to Ron and Ginny instead of him. They wouldn't have questioned it, but a Memory Charm later and they'd not remember a thing."

"That's if they had to be coerced at all…"

Fred and George shared a grim, angry look. Hermione scowled at them

"You…are you suggesting Ron and Ginny might have _volunteered_? Done this willingly?"

Harry turned to her, his eyes flashing with malice. Hermione felt his magic pulse off him again, only this time it wasn't at all erotic. It was downright dangerous.

"Like we said," George riled. "We know our siblings."

"Ron's been in your shadow ever since that first train ride," Fred explained. "He's bitched about it ever since. He has such a love/hate relationship with you, Harry. On the one hand, he loves the slice of fame he gets as your mate. On the other, he resents you with callous bitterness for living up to your legend."

"I have _not_ lived up to that bloody legend!" Harry cried in protest.

"I'm afraid you _have_ , Harry," said Hermione, sadly. "You've survived Voldemort three times since you were eleven, to add to your first escape from him. You've surpassed the achievements of your parents, in that respect."

"You've also slain a basilisk, rescued a serial killer, and won the Triwizard Tournament," George pointed out.

"And outed lovable old Voldie to the world," said Fred. "If girls didn't fancy you much before - which they obviously did - they'll be tripping over themselves to get a date with you this year."

"And there are fewer more dangerous enemies in this world than a pack of vapid girls!" George smirked.

Harry swore at that, while Hermione silently fumed. It was completely true, Harry had never been more fanciable. There would be a queue of girls angling for his attention, just when Hermione was coming to realise she wanted him all for herself. She felt she'd have to join Harry in his Duelling Class - for she'd be cursing girls left, right and centre, if her jealousy kept spiralling at this rate.

"Great. Just great," Harry riled lowly. "As if I didn't have enough problems to deal with."

"Just get a girlfriend," said Fred, eyeing Hermione with the tiniest of glances. Harry didn't seem to have noticed. "That might deter some."

"Though it might inspire others, see it as a challenge, you know?" said George, thoughtfully. "Second thoughts, better scrap the plan. Being Harry Potter's girlfriend might just be a job too dangerous for anyone sane to take on!"

Harry grimaced at that, and Hermione could see the truth of George's jest settle on his chest. His shoulders sagged, a flit of resignation crossed his crumpled brow. Hermione felt her heart bleed at the sight. It was as though Harry were already preparing to close himself down emotionally. She wanted to reach out and touch him, hug him, as though physical contact might displace some of the self-doubt she could see creeping into his countenance.

But she couldn't, she had to keep her distance. In any case, she was considering George's words, herself. There was a lacing of truth to his jokey statement. Being Harry's girlfriend was a big thing… a, frankly, _scary_ thing. And it wasn't just the obvious risk from Voldemort. It was the other side of it, the part about being the girlfriend of one of the most famous wizards in the world.

There was a whole raft of problems with that.

There would be the publicity, the intrusion, the constant media attention. Then there'd be the interest from other girls, daily fan mail, offers of dates or more, witches sending Harry their knickers in the post. Hermione laughed to herself at that, remembering how disabled Harry had become with her _own_ knickers in his hands. But any prospective girlfriend of Harry would have to deal with all of that, and so much more. The constant threat of losing him to one of his myriad of enemies perhaps the worst of those.

And, for the first time in a long time, Hermione felt _afraid_ of her growing feelings for her best friend. So afraid, in fact, that she shifted slightly away from him in her seat.

"But, just to put your mind at ease," George continued. "We took ourselves to The Order as soon as we could. Let them check us over for any contamination of Percy's Darkness."

"And we were clean as a whistle," said Fred. "Dumbledore conducted the examination, himself."

"What was it like?" asked Harry.

"Well, the anal probe was a little forward," Fred returned solemnly in reply. "I mean…not one kiss…no mention of the words ' _I love you, Freddy_ ,' no flowers afterwards…"

Harry allowed himself a brief smirk at that. It didn't quite reach his eyes, but it shook Hermione from her unreasonable self-concern. She mentally punched herself for her lapse; she had promised to be there for Harry whatever. How could she be more afraid of tackling other girls fawning over him, than she was of facing up to Death Eaters? It wasn't as if he was ever going to be _her_ boyfriend, anyway. It was just a daydream, a fantasy that she was conjuring from the recesses of her stretched mind. Harry didn't need her so fanciful. He needed her strong, guiding and protecting him, whatever form that took. Even if it meant vetting his potential girlfriends until he was sure of their intentions.

And she leant in towards him on instinct, apologetic for a crime he didn't even know she'd committed. And her heart retreated back behind it's walls, Harry regretfully returned to the _friend zone_. It had been a nice dream…for the hour it had lasted.

* * *

Harry couldn't pinpoint Hermione's mood, and he didn't like it. She was quiet, almost defensive, speaking little more than a few words per sentence. He could hardly chastise her for that, having formed a deep relationship with extremely short statements, himself, just recently. But this was _Hermione;_ silent and moody was _his_ way, not hers. Harry watched her in concern as she picked at her food but rarely ate any of it, wondering what had happened to make her so introverted.

For they'd been having a pleasant day up till that point. It skirted with being _fun_ , something Harry was starting to forget from the world. He was thrilled beyond words that she'd agreed to his request regarding his vault. He'd been worried she'd run a mile at the life-long connection he was proposing between them. But she hadn't. She'd accepted it with a willing happiness that took Harry's breath away a little.

And it reaffirmed the utter _rightness_ of the decision.

Then they'd had a nice bit of light-hearted play regarding the girls Neville had met that afternoon. Harry's mood had been its most buoyant in months during that time. The meeting with the Twins gave them some cause for concern regarding yet more threats to Harry, but that wasn't something either found too surprising. Yes, the direct insinuations about Ron and Ginny warranted greater examination, but all in all, they hadn't learned much more than that the Twins were reliable and trustworthy.

Even going around the shop was a bit of fun, playing around with the trick wands and testing the effectiveness of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. It worked, and was so dark that Harry thought he'd gone blind a moment when the gloom wouldn't clear. But then Neville and his new friends came along, and one of the girls' mother cleared away the spell.

"She's the new Defence Professor," Neville was explaining. "Harriet Roth. The blonde girl, Celesca, is her daughter."

They were sat eating dinner at _The Leaky Cauldron_ \- Harry, Hermione, her parents and Neville at one table, Neville's Gran and the Auror detail sipping brandy at another. Harry was doing just as little actual eating as Hermione, such was his avid attention on her as she played with her pasta.

"She'll be maimed or dead in a year, then," said Harry carelessly. Hermione tutted at him. "What? She will be. None of them last more than a year."

"My parents are sat here!" Hermione hissed lowly.

Harry baulked. "Oh, yeah. Sorry."

"Sounds like a cursed job," said Catrin, attempting to lighten the mood. "If you go through so many Professors."

"You know, that's not a bad shout," said Neville, gesticulating with his fork. "Maybe we should suggest it to the teachers. See what they think."

"Is such a thing even possible?" asked David.

Harry, Hermione and Neville gave him a combined, nonplussed, pitying sort of look. Even David read its meaning.

"Oh, I see…it's _magic._ Nothing's impossible."

"Except bringing back the dead," said Harry.

"And even that's not _strictly_ true," said Hermione.

"What does that mean?" asked Harry.

"You can't _revive_ the dead…as in bring them back as they were," said Hermione. "But you've seen the effect of Priori Incantatem. You saw Cedric, your parents. They _spoke_ to you. They were sentient in that regard."

Harry swallowed hard at the memory. It still hurt. He took a breath and saw Catrin give him a deeply sympathetic look. He turned shyly from it.

"Then you have things called _Inferi_ , which are like zombies," Hermione went on. "And magical portraits can communicate long after the subject has been deceased. So, the dead can be brought back of a fashion, even if it's just _reanimation._ It's all very dark, tasteless sort of stuff. Necromancy is banned for good reason. It's so Dark it's unreal."

Harry hadn't thought of the paintings like that, but he saw Hermione's point. He wondered about Chocolate Frog cards, too. It all seemed highly dubious, now he thought about it.

"So, who were those girls, anyway?" Harry asked, to redirect the conversation. "That dark-haired one seemed pretty taken with you."

"D-do you think?" asked Neville, shyly, He started rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know about all of that, but she was really nice."

"Who are they?" Hermione pressed.

"They're both from a witches coven in Brecon," said Neville. "That's in Wales."

"Ah, I was born not far from there," said Catrin, happy to join in. "I lived in Cardiff until I met David and we moved to Abingdon. I do miss the mother country. There's just something about the air."

"Right. Well, the girls are part of a Druidic clan there," said Neville. "They don't have traditional magical education as we do, but they know most of the same sorts of stuff, as well as far more advanced magic. Rituals and things like that."

"Wow," said Harry, sharing a knowing look with Hermione, who's excited eyes made her look much more like her old self. Harry gave her an encouraging grin, hoping to keep her mood there. "But why are they coming to Hogwarts then?"

"They still need formally recognised qualifications," said Neville. "For jobs and things, I suppose. They were in London today picking up the results of their O.W.L.'s. They sat them independently. They both passed, but Celesca - the girl in the hood - she had ten O's and one A. She might give you a run for top student this year, Hermione."

Hermione huffed, her eyes narrowing. "I had ten O's and one _EE_ , just so you know."

"What did you have an EE in?" asked Neville.

"Defence, I messed up the practical," said Hermione, sniffily. "The Boggart…I…I couldn't…"

She glanced a cautious look up at Harry. He felt distinctly uneasy at her look. She'd never told him quite what had happened in her practical exam, and since it had led to an out-of-character marks loss, he'd not pushed the point, knowing how devastating this rather minor setback would have been to her. But now, he was deeply curious, for if he was reading her look right, it might have had something to do with _him_. How this might have manifested, he couldn't even guess, but even as the conversation progressed he found his mind plotting and scheming to worm the information out of her.

"How did you do, Nev?" Hermione was asking.

"Better than I thought," said Neville cheerily. "Mostly A's, but I scrapped an EE in Defence, thanks to our _extra Professor_ here." He tilted his glass at Harry in salute. "And I had two more EE's in Care and Herbology. I…er…did get a _T_ in Potions, though. But that's no surprise to anyone. I can't wait to drop it this year. How about you, Harry?"

"Rubbish, really," he moaned.

"It was _not_ rubbish," said Hermione, supportively. "All EE's, except for the uselessness that is Divination and a History score that _could_ have been better. But an O in Defence. Plenty to work on for the N.E.W.T. programme, but a bit of hard work will see him right up there. I don't know about any new girl going for Top Student, but _Harry_ can have a shot at that, if he puts his head down."

"Hermione." said Harry, flushing at her commendation.

"What? I'm not saying anything that isn't true," said Hermione. "And as a Prefect you're absolutely going to set the standards. No excuses."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry grinned at her.

"Wait… _you're_ going to be a Prefect?" asked Neville, his jaw askance. "What about Ron?"

"Dumbledore took it off him," said Harry, more happily than he should have.

"Yes, he finally realised his mistake and rectified it," said Hermione, proudly. "I'll finally have someone competent as a partner."

"That's great news, Harry," said Neville. "Congratulations. You completely deserve it. Me and the guys were saying so all year. Ron had no business wearing that badge, no business at all."

"Cheers," said Harry. "I just hope I don't mess it up."

"You won't," said Hermione confidently.

"And when is she ever wrong?" Neville guffawed. "And if you ever need any help, I'll be happy to deputise."

Harry thought hard for a moment, an idea blooming in his mind. Neville was looking so earnestly at him, and he felt he really needed a male peer to support him at Hogwarts. He hoped Neville would be keen on the job.

"Hey, Nev…can you keep a secret?" Harry whispered lowly.

"You know I can," said Neville. "What is it?"

"Come over here, I want to talk to you privately," said Harry.

He got up, ignoring Hermione's querying looks, and led Neville to a table on the other side of the pub. They huddled together and Neville leaned in close, so only Harry could hear him when he spoke. "Is this about the matching rings you and Hermione are wearing? Don't think I haven't noticed."

"What? Er…no…well, sort of," Harry stumbled. "It's…complicated."

"You can say that again," Neville quirked. "Ron will cock a _fit_ when he sees them. I can't fucking _wait_ to see it, mate. Hermione's always been yours…Ron has less business laying claim to _her_ than he did the Prefects badge."

Harry felt a lump lodge in his throat. Neville's certainty…about him and Hermione…what was that all about? And what was this horse shite about Ron _claiming_ Hermione? Anger ignited in Harry's chest as he thought it.

"Wait…what do you mean about Ron?"

"Oh, he was just going on all last year about Hermione fancying him, and that he was going to go out with her just to prove he could," said Neville. "I…I assumed you knew!"

"No…I didn't," Harry ground out bitterly.

"No, of course you didn't," said Neville, horrified in his understanding. "Sorry, Harry. I've been such a prick, engaging in that rubbish. I should have known you wouldn't have had a clue. Ron even went as far as to say he'd ' _gotten you out of the picture_ ', though none of us knew if that meant you'd agreed to let him to do it, or agreed not to go after Hermione yourself. Which we all thought was ridiculous, as you're both quite obviously gone on each other."

Harry's anger evaporated at that. Was Hermione really ' _gone on him'_ , as Neville asserted? The notion set his heart to wild beating, playing a tattoo beneath his ribs. He felt a warmth surge through him and he looked over at Hermione, watching him and Neville's conspiratory actions with deep suspicion. He smiled at her, his stomach flipping as he saw her blush under his gaze.

"No, this is all new information," said Harry. "But it's sort of tied into everything. I need to know if I can trust you…if I can rely on you."

Neville puffed his chest out. "You know you can, Harry. I may not seem much, but I'm on your side."

"This is big, Nev," said Harry. "Really big. And it involves you, too."

"Me?" Neville quizzed. "What about me?"

"I can't say here," said Harry, flashing a gaze at the Aurors. "I don't know who's listening. Look, we are back at Hogwarts in a month. Hermione and I will get the private dorms for the Sixth Year Prefects. When I know where they are, I'll send for you. I'll explain everything."

"Can't you give me a hint? The suspense might kill me," Neville grinned.

"All I can say is that it is about the Prophecy, the one The Death Eaters were trying to get at the Ministry last year," said Harry. "It involves me and Voldemort…and you, too. I can't say any more. Just say you'll come. I want to count on you, Nev. I know you have this in you."

Neville stirred himself proudly. "I do, Harry, I promise. One month…I can do that. Oh, but there's one other thing."

"Yeah? And what's that?"

"Your ring…it's got your family crest on it," Neville smirked knowingly. "Has your House been made Ancient and Noble then?"

"Yeah," said Harry, showing Neville the ring for a closer inspection. "How did you know?"

"Cause I've been staring at the one for my family, that I'll inherit when I turn seventeen, since I was about five years old," said Neville. "It's in a cabinet at home. My Gran uses it when she attends Wizengamot sessions, which isn't so often these days. She doesn't trust politicians…can't say I blame her. How did you get the upgrade?"

"My Godfather…you know, Sirius Black…he left me everything when he…passed on," said Harry, fighting a new choke in his throat. "His House was absorbed into mine, and I inherited his status."

"Ahh," said Neville, nodding. "So, do I call you _Lord Potter_ from now on? Protocol dictates that I should."

"I don't know anything about that, so I'd say no," said Harry. He made a mental note to get himself clued up on all this etiquette. Maybe Hermione knew enough to get him started.

"I can help you with anything you need," said Neville. "Uncle Algie's been prepping me during the school holidays since I got into Hogwarts. It's mostly funny handshakes and using correct titles, but you'll need to learn it, really. Please, _please_ , though, can you make Ron call you _Lord Harry_? Just for a week or so? It'll be hilarious!"

Harry snorted a laugh. "I'll think about it."

"You mean you'll ask Hermione about it," Neville quipped. "She's always been the brains between you. So…when's the big announcement coming then?"

"What big announcement?"

"Don't play coy," said Neville, slyly. "You and Hermione. Don't try to kid me that nothing's going on."

"What are you on about?" asked Harry, blushing madly.

"You two…being _together_ ," said Neville. "And it's not just about the rings. You haven't taken your eyes off her all evening. And when you aren't looking at _her,_ she's looking at _you_. That's nothing new, she always looks at you, but there's more there than before. When are you going to tell everyone you're going out?"

"We aren't going out," said Harry. He noticed a trace of regret about his voice. He hadn't meant to put it there, but it infused his words nonetheless.

"Pah!" Neville snorted. "Don't give me that, Harry!"

"It's true," said Harry. "Honest."

"But you do like her?"

It was the pure earnestness of Neville's question that threw Harry. He wasn't fishing for gossip, or on the verge of teasing. There was genuine interest, even encouragement. Harry was hit was a powerful sense just then…that maybe he'd been best male friends with the wrong Gryffindor for years.

"Of course I _like_ her, she's my best friend," said Harry, evasively. "But in terms of liking her… _like that_ …it's all a bit new. I'm still trying to work it out."

"No, you're not," said Neville triumphantly. "You're just trying to allow yourself to feel it. To let yourself care for Hermione the way loads of us already think you do. Want my advice? Do yourself a favour…and give yourself _permission_ …to think of Hermione a little differently than you've ever allowed before. You'll see what most of us already know."

"Which is?"

"That you're crazy about her," said Neville, so simply that Harry sunk back in astonishment. "I knew for certain when I saw how you were back at the Ministry last year…when you thought she'd died. A piece of you looked like it died, too. Then, when I found her pulse, I _felt_ your happiness, your relief, like it was in my own body. It came off you like a raging tide. Even I nearly passed out with it. I suppose you've never told her?"

"I've not told _myself_ ," said Harry, wearily shattered by the revelation. "What am I telling myself, Nev?"

"That's not for me to say, mate," said Neville. "Ask her…maybe she can tell you. I mean, it's bloody obvious she feels the same for you. There are many secrets around Hogwarts, Harry…that isn't one of them."

* * *

Hermione returned to the kitchen, her eyes tired and blurry, and accepted the mug of tea her mother proffered in her direction. She sat at the table with a heavy sigh.

"Thanks, Mum."

"How is he?" Catrin asked cautiously. "Better?"

"He's shaken up, but I think he's settled again," said Hermione. She cast an ear towards the staircase just outside the kitchen, testing the quality of the silent air. It was as it should be, still and muted, just like three a.m. was supposed to be. Hermione visibly relaxed at the silence.

"I had no idea his nightmares could be so bad, so vivid," said Catrin. "The poor lamb. He was retching so violently in the bathroom. How he must be suffering."

"You don't know the half of it," said Hermione, bitterly. "He's gone through so much, Mum, seen such horror. I don't know if he'll ever truly recover."

The idea sat hollow on Hermione's breast. She felt sick, herself, just thinking about that.

"Have you thought about counselling? It could help."

"I've considered suggesting it," Hermione confessed. "But, truth is, I think there are more horrors to come before this is over. Harry has to see the last of his bad things, before he can ever begin to start to heal. My heart aches for him, Mum."

"Tell me something I don't know," said Catrin, a light smirk crinkling the corners of her eyes.

"Not now, Mum," Hermione moaned in a bored voice. "Harry's just had a traumatic dream…I don't need to focus on anything else."

"Even your _own_ dreams?"

"Even them," Hermione replied. She was too weary to argue with much gusto.

"Why are Harry's nightmare so bad?" asked Catrin. "We all have bad dreams… but to be sick after one…that's new on me."

"It's complicated," said Hermione. "Harry's always had a sort of… _clairvoyance_ …in his dreams. The Dark Wizard, who we're fighting, found a way to break into Harry's mind last year, give him horrible visions. One led to the events that cost his Godfather his life. I don't know if this, tonight, was a planted dream, or just a regular nightmare. But Harry responds the same to them both…and you saw how that manifests."

"Good Lord, that's terrible," said Catrin, sipping her tea in deep pity. "You never told us it was this bad."

"You might not have agreed to let him stay if I had," Hermione pointed out.

"Nonsense, I'd have _insisted_ you did!" Catrin countered.

Hermione eyed her mother curiously. "You would have?"

"Absolutely," said Catrin. "Harry was beside himself when I found him tonight, panicked and so very scared. But he stilled and calmed as soon as you were in the room. He needs you so badly, dear. I've never seen the like and, well, you know my thoughts on the topic. I would never have denied him your care. He's such a nice boy, from the little he's allowed us in. I know your father likes him."

"He does?" asked Hermione, perking up. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, he told me for one," Catrin smiled. "But he liked how protective Harry got of you at the pub earlier, when challenged about you. There was such passion there…your Dad developed a great deal of respect for Harry for standing up to him. That takes courage. It's easy to be afraid of your girlfriend's father…it's harder to take ownership of her care and protection from him. That's what Harry did then."

"I'm not Harry's girlfriend," said Hermione, for what felt like the thousandth time in her life. That made her sit up…why had she needed to deny it so often? What did other people see that she and Harry didn't…or had been too blind to?

"Really? We are sat drinking tea in the early hours of the morning, and you've spent the past hour nurse-maiding that boy upstairs back to sleep after a crippling nightmare. Mere friends don't do that, Hermione. Surely you must see that."

"I see nothing of the sort," said Hermione, turning crimson under her mother's look. "And stop calling me _Shirley._ "

"Ho, ho," Catrin tittled. "Look, I'm just trying to open up that logical brain of yours, make you think outside it for once."

"We're just _friends_ , Mum," Hermione repeated.

"Then you're both missing out," said Catrin. "You and Harry have something really special, and I don't know the boy well enough to give me much to judge that on. Other than the burning way he looks at you, the way he cares for you with such ferocity, the fact that if he's not near you he's deeply miserable. And that you're _exactly_ the same."

"What are you on about now?" said Hermione, fanning her cheeks to quell the heat stinging her there.

"I saw how you were when your Dad asked Harry to watch the football with him tonight," said Catrin. "I know your Dad loves _that_ \- having someone to watch all the sports with - but Harry spent more time looking over at you sat at this table that he did the TV. And you outright stared at him the whole time."

"I was just checking he was okay…with Dad, I mean," said Hermione. "I didn't want Dad to say something that might upset him…about all that he's been through, you know."

"You need to give us a bit more credit, honey," said Catrin. "We may not be wizards…but we are still _humans_. We understand bereavement quite well enough. We've both lost parents, don't forget."

"I know, Mum, and you're both being great about all this…thank you," said Hermione, reaching over and squeezing her mother's hand. "I know Harry thinks so, too. It's just hard for him to say things like that."

"I know that, honey, and he really doesn't have to," said Catrin. "You will tell him he doesn't need to feel pressured to open up to us, wont you? We get thanks enough from seeing the effect he has on you…I've not seen you smile and laugh so much as you have this Summer. Harry is welcome here for that alone."

"Mum." said Hermione, smiling shyly. "He…he does make me happy, I'll give you that concession."

"That's a start, then," Catrin teased. "What is it, Hermione? Why so hesitant?"

Hermione sighed in resignation. Her mother wasn't going to give up, and Hermione was growing tired of denying it.

"Harry doesn't like me as you think he does," said Hermione. "I'm not his type. He's never called me anything other than his friend."

"Proving nothing," said Catrin. "You've probably not done anything different, yourself."

"No…but I've pretended a few times."

"Ha! So I was right!"

"In a _left_ sort of way," Hermione returned.

"So…has Harry ever outright said he doesn't find you attractive?" asked Catrin.

Hermione thought a moment. "Well…not in so many words, I suppose."

"And you say he's not the type who opens up very easily?" Catrin pressed. "Emotionally guarded, would you say?"

"Yes…I suppose."

"A boy who's been hurt emotionally by almost every person he's ever been in contact with in his life, including that other friend of yours?"

"There…there is that," said Hermione, considering the implications of her mother's words. "What are you getting at?"

"If Harry liked you, or found you attractive, do you honestly think he'd be brave enough to tell you?" asked Catrin. "Boys bruise emotionally, too. If you haven't shown an overt interest in him, what can you expect such a wounded and guarded boy to do? He's not likely to take a chance, is he? Risk getting hurt again, perhaps by the only person who's _never_ hurt him. I think it's perfectly reasonably that Harry hasn't confessed his feelings to you…and I doubt he ever would, if there was even the slightest chance you might reject him."

"I'd _never_ reject him!" Hermione cried on reflex. Her hand shot to her mouth to try and catch the escaping truth, but the abominable idea was already pooling in her belly. The vision of Harry…upset that she'd turned him down…it turned her stomach.

"You should be telling Harry that, not me," said Catrin. "He deserves a bit of love, after all the hate he's had to endure."

Hermione's head span at that…the mention of the L-word. She batted it away as he mother took the tea cups to swill in the sink.

"I'm going to head back up," said Catrin. She eyed Hermione shrewdly. "Can I trust you, honey?"

"Yes…" Hermione replied, curiously. "Why are you asking?"

"I think you ought to sleep in Harry's room tonight," she said. "Take a spare quilt from the linen cupboard, make up a bed on the floor. He might need you again…and I'd like to not have your father disturbed for a second time."

"I've left Dobby with him," said Hermione, blushing crazily at her mother's suggestion. "He can take care of anything Harry might need."

"Hermione, dear, sometimes there's no comfort like that of a witches' touch," said Catrin lightly. "Just be good. Night."

And with that she went to bed. Hermione followed a minute later, stopping to listen outside Harry's room a moment, but all seemed quiet. She eased herself back into her own room and into bed, where she stayed for all of three minutes, before jumping up and pulling her quilt and pillows along in her wake. She paused hesitantly outside Harry's room, took a bated breath, then gently opened the door.

Dobby's globe-like eyes rounded on her as she entered. Hermione clicked the door shut and padded over the carpet to Harry's bedside, where she proceeded to lay out her quilt and pillows. Dobby said nothing, conceding Harry's care to Hermione with no protest, as though it were her right to claim it. Hermione started at that. Dobby did, however, click his fingers and conjure a fluffy mattress beneath Hermione's quilt. Hermione smiled her thanks, then Dobby popped away.

In the dark, Hermione allowed herself to out and stare at Harry. A shaft of moonlight had fallen across his face, coating his skin in a silvery glow. It brought a cosy heat to Hermione's chest as she looked. Harry seemed more peaceful than earlier; his brow had unknotted, and the lines at his mouth had smoothed out. Hermione's eyes dwelt a little longer on Harry's lips than they should have. They seemed plump, soft. She wondered if they were.

So she took a risk.

Slowly, and impossibly gently, she reached forward and tracked her hand up the soft fluff of the quilt towards Harry's face. With trembling hands, and a speeding heart, she eased her index finger forward to touch Harry's bottom lip. He seemed to hitch a moment, but simply puffed out a huff of air as he slept on. Hermione felt delinquently naughty to be invading Harry's space like this, but she was powerless now she'd started.

His lips were so soft, it was actually ridiculous. It crushed Hermione's heart that anyone would want to harm something so soft and pure. It was all kinds of wrong in Hermione's world. She just wanted to care for him, to slide beneath the covers and hold his head to her breast, soothe his pain away. But she restrained herself. Her fingers left Harry's lips, brushed an errant black hair behind his ear, then she leaned in and gently kissed his head, a whisper-soft kiss that he probably wouldn't have felt even if he'd been awake.

Hermione took one last, lingering look at Harry's slumbering form, just as he began mumbling nonsense in his dream.

"Slughorn…yes, Slughorn…he knows…seven can be done…Professor Slughorn…keep it quiet…Dumbledore in Transfiguration…he suspects…Slughorn will help…"

Hermione sat up and watched, as Harry talked jumbled garbage between words. Quick as a flash, she reached up and took the pen and newspaper from where Harry had been doing a crossword earlier. She wrote down Harry's babblings, just as he settled again. It was probably nothing, garbled messages from a dreamscape, but there was no harm in checking…just to be sure.


	6. Slugging It Out

Harry stirred and woke, stretching his arms wildly beneath his fluffy quilt. He grinned to himself…the bed was _so_ comfy! Ten times better than Dudley's hand-me-down, second mattress at Privet Drive, with the dodgy spring near the top, where his fat head had broken it. Better even than the beds at Hogwarts, though, to be fair, they had been spelled to only reach a certain level of comfort, to deter loiterers who angled for late sleeping in on school days.

They were crafty buggers up at the old school.

But Hermione's guest room mattress was like an oasis of bouncy heaven. Harry felt he could stay here forever and be happier for it. It was bigger than the beds at Hogwarts and Privet Drive combined, allowing Harry to star-fish with room to spare if he fancied it. Which he often did. The pillows were soft, the quilt cosy, and Harry felt the comfort of Hermione just a room away, should he need anything. Though, in honesty, just _seeing_ her was enough to lighten his mood these days.

So, to start the day by finding her curled up on the floor next to his bed was pretty much the perfect way to wake up.

Harry smiled at her fondly, as he slid his head over the side of the bed to just look at her. Hermione's shock of wild chestnut curls were splayed haphazardly across her pillow. Harry imagined she'd pitch a fit if she knew he'd seen her like that, but he thought she looked adorable. He'd always loved her hair; it was as wild as his, they were kindred spirits in that. But hers was so thick and lustrous, Harry often wondered what it would be like to get his fingers lost and tangled within its soft tresses. He held his breath at the thought, as though enjoying a guilty indulgence.

Then the confusion hit. Why was Hermione asleep on his floor at all?

Harry continued to stare at her as he considered it. There was something about her skin, a sort of glow, that he found almost hypnotic. It was so pleasant to look at that he didn't really want to look away, or wake her lest she lose it. She looked content, stripped of the cares she usually carried. Harry silently cursed himself, realising that these heavy cares were for _him_ just now. That was all sorts of wrong in his mind. She was better than that…she ought not to have to carry his burdens.

But Hermione was also free of the rabid concentration of her brilliant mind, relieved of the need to solve whatever problem or homework task that might have been facing her. Her features were relaxed, a slight smile twitched at the corners of her mouth and her eyelids fluttered gracefully as she dreamt. Harry wondered what she might be dreaming about, as he lay there and watched the process cross her face. It felt obscene to play voyeur like this, but Harry couldn't stop himself. He was enjoying it too much…Hermione was just so pretty in this state.

And Harry caught a gasp as it tried to escape his throat.

A lump replaced the burst of air in his windpipe as Harry's heart rate leapt up. Was that why he was staring at Hermione so blatantly? Was he _admiring_ her? He knew the answer before he'd even finished asking the question. This was an entirely new sensation, one that Harry found so comfortingly pleasing as it settled on him, that he was left a little mindless a moment.

Hermione was _pretty_. Harry had always known that, but now he was allowing himself to _feel_ it, to absorb it as a visceral truth. And she wasn't just pretty…she was _breathtakingly_ pretty. How had he not spotted that before? He'd been around her for years, spent countless hours looking at her face. Maybe she'd hidden her prettiness behind a mask of academic pursuit, or in the pages of a large book. Harry smiled at that, accepting its probable truth. But now this new truth was flooding his mind, along with another that hit him like a frenetic stampede of Acromantula.

Harry _liked_ looking at Hermione. He didn't feel guilty because he wasn't objectifying her or ogling her…he was _admiring_ her, basking in her peaceful serenity as though her very presence was a healing pool. Harry felt calmer, safer, more able to be positive than anywhere else on Earth, just by sharing the same air as Hermione. When had that happened? Had it always been this way, or was Harry only now discovering it?

He suddenly remembered his nightmare from last night, reliving Sirius's death, only with Voldemort cursing him, cackling high as Sirius arced through the veil. Harry had been dizzy, confused, frightened by the dark images punching the inside of his skull. Then Hermione was there at his side, her voice soothing and stilling him. Was that why she'd made up a temporary bed at his side, to watch over him? Harry's heart exploded at that, a wave of emotion so powerful sweeping over him that his vision swam a moment.

He'd never felt so connected to another person as he did to Hermione in that moment. Never felt so much gratitude, so pleased to be in the care of someone as he did then. She was too good, too kind, Harry felt humble to be the recipient of her attentions. He resolved to be worth it, to stop wallowing and deal with his problems as quickly as he could. It was the least he could do to justify Hermione's efforts.

Harry drew in a heaving sigh, and let a little of his grief go with the exhale. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Hermione shifted in her sleep. Harry's pointed breath had tickled a stray hair onto her nose. Hermione scrunched her face, before reaching up to swat at the errant strand like a puppy scratching at an itch. Harry found it painfully cute. He grinned a moment, then his eyes fell onto the newspaper on his nightstand, the crossword he'd left unfinished. There were too many empty squares, a poor showing really. He was on the cusp of being embarrassed that Hermione might have seen that, when he saw her own neatly structured handwriting on the page.

_Professor Slughorn…Dumbledore…seven can be done._

What on Earth did that mean? Harry thought hard as he read the words. He'd never heard of a Professor Slughorn, and had no idea what the last bit meant at all. And what did Dumbledore have to do with any of that? He was about to wake Hermione and ask her, when her own voice startled him.

"Morning. How long have you been awake?"

Harry glanced down at her, guiltily frozen in his pose. He was still half-leaning over the side of the bed, his head still angled towards Hermione below him. Only the most foolish of people would have been in any doubt about what he'd been doing. And Hermione was no fool. Her eyes and tone conveyed that hint of knowledge, and her cheeks flecked with colour as she looked back up at Harry.

"Oh…I…er…not very long," he replied, hauling himself into a less conspicuous position. "What are doing on my floor?"

"Well, _technically_ , it's my floor," Hermione smiled, sitting up and drawing her quilt around her shoulders. "I just thought I should stay in here, in case you needed anything in the night."

Harry nodded, flushing at the insinuation inherent in the words. He steadied his gutter mind. "So you obviously saw I needed help with the crossword!"

Hermione laughed. "I did see that you'd had a struggle or two. By the way, there are two 'a's in _aardvark._ "

"Really? Are you sure?"

Hermione gave Harry a very plain look. He knew better than to question her, this was just a gentle reminder.

"That's why I had trouble with everything else then," said Harry cheerily. Hermione didn't seem convinced, but she made the concession to Harry's ego. "But what's all that you've written?"

"Oh, I almost forgot," said Hermione. "When I came in last night you were mumbling that. It's probably nothing, but I thought I'd write it down just in case. You know how you are with dreams."

"Mmm," Harry agreed. He summoned Dobby, who popped into view next to the bed. "Dobby, can you do me a favour? I need you to go to Headmaster Dumbledore right away. Ask him if he knows a Professor Slughorn, will you?"

"Professor Slughorn," Dobby parroted. "Yes, Master Harry Potter."

And then he was gone. Hermione eyed him suspiciously. "What are you thinking, Harry?"

"I'm thinking that doubting your hunches has never worked in my favour," Harry replied. "And you obviously thought this was important enough to record. Let's see what Dobby comes up with."

They didn't have to wait long. Dobby returned less than five minutes later, and Harry was less than comfortable with the grave expression on his face.

"Headmaster Dumbledore says Dobby is to take you to him," said the elf seriously. "Right now."

"What is it, Dobby?" asked Harry.

"Dobby does not know. But Headmaster be very firm. You are to get dressed and come right away."

Harry looked at Hermione, who frowned a moment before leaping up. "I'm coming, too. Just let me get changed."

"No, Miss Hermione," said Dobby. "Just Master Harry. Professor Dumbledore was very clear."

Harry frowned, an expression mirrored by Hermione. "Why just me? Dumbledore must realise I'll tell you everything anyway."

"I don't know," said Hermione, her expression shadowy. "I don't like this, Harry. I get the feeling we've touched a nerve somewhere."

"Me too," Harry agreed. "I'd better go and find out what."

Hermione bit her trembling lip. "Harry - just be _careful_."

"I will," Harry replied. He stood and met Hermione face on. He was a good foot taller than her now, so when he took her gently by the shoulders he had to coax her to look up at him. "I'm just going to get some answers, then I'll be back. And I'll have Dobby with me for support."

Hermione nodded. She looked afraid and Harry didn't understand why, though he couldn't deny a thrill of fear himself. He'd been at Hermione's side for a few weeks now, almost never out of her sight. She'd empowered him through her protective stance, and Harry felt strangely vulnerable to be going somewhere without her, even if it was just to see Dumbledore.

"Master Harry…we needs to go," Dobby prompted.

"Go, be safe…and come back to me with information to get my teeth into," Hermione whispered. She leant up and kissed Harry's cheek. He felt her lips linger against his tingling skin a second too long…though he was reasonably convinced that he now thought no length of time was actually _too long_ for such a thing. He watched Hermione leave, a fierce sense of sorrow pooling in his belly, rebelling against the action.

"Dobby, can you tell me what Dumbledore said? Did he tell you _anything?"_

"No, Master Harry," said Dobby. He turned his back to protect Harry's modesty as he hurriedly changed. "But he did seem quite cross."

Harry scowled at that. He was deeply curious, but also deeply wary. He pulled on his trainers, slipped his wand into the holster on his forearm, then reached out for Dobby. In an instant, Harry was spirited away. He felt like he was being squashed through a narrow tube, and spun like a washing machine drum. He had barely time to register the rise of vomit in his throat, when his feet suddenly slammed into a hard, stone floor.

Then _he_ was slammed bodily into a brick wall.

Harry's breath left him in a startled rush. He struggled for a gulp of clean air, the lung-on-wall impact leaving him panting hard. It was then he realised that he was utterly immobile, pinned against the brickwork with his feet about a foot from the floor. He looked over and saw Dobby unconscious nearby. Then he felt it - a wave of powerful energy that careened into him like a fierce gale. It was thickening the air, pulsing with such force that Harry felt it resonate in his very bones. He was helpless against its potency, at the whim of the one creating it. He then saw, with almost terrified eyes, the source of this power.

For Albus Dumbledore was facing him, fury etched into every line of his ancient face, his wand drawn and throbbing with the intensity of his magic…magic directed fully at Harry.

"Horace Slughorn!" Dumbledore boomed angrily, his voice like rolling thunder. "Tell me how you know about Horace Slughorn. Answer me!"

"I-I I don't know," Harry's voice quavered. He felt his bladder empty, the warm liquid trickling down his inner thigh. He'd never before been afraid of Dumbledore…but now he joined the likes of Barty Crouch Jnr and the Death Eaters of the Department of Mysteries Battle, as one of those who had felt the full force of Dumbledore's ire…and he was utterly petrified by it.

"Do not _lie_ to me!" Dumbledore thundered. "You spoke his name!"

"I was dreaming," Harry pleaded. "I don't remember it. Hermione…she…she heard me sleep talking and wrote it down…I don't know who he is, I swear it…Professor… _please_."

Dumbledore's rage ebbed a fraction at Harry's frightened tone. He stepped forward and placed his wand to Harry's scar…and he screeched in agony at the touch. His scar was burning white hot, the pain blinding, causing tears to spill from his eyes. Harry felt Dumbledore invade his mind, a hundred times more aggressively than Snape ever had. He was digging, delving deep. It was as much an attack as a probe. Harry pleaded in his mind for Dumbledore to stop, he couldn't take very much more.

And then, just like that, the pain vanished. Dumbledore's roiling magic dissipated like a gentle breeze and he stepped away, turning to look out of a narrow window as he sheathed his wand in a leather holder at his side. Harry crumpled to the floor, where he curled up into a shivering ball, braced against the residual effect of the assault.

"I would ask for your forgiveness, Harry," said Dumbledore lowly. "But if I were you, I would not give it. Nor can I guarantee not to test you like this again in the future. So I shall remain silent until you are ready to vent your anger at me. Go ahead…I will not stop you should you wish to curse me."

Harry stilled at Dumbledore's words, as though he'd somehow blended a healing spell into them. Harry's flutterings ceased almost immediately, his heart rate slowed to normal, and the evidence of his soiling vanished from the front of his jeans. He took a steadying breath, then pulled himself into a sitting position, where he eyed Dumbledore with a look of hurt and mutiny.

"Why did you do that?" Harry asked. "Why did you attack me on sight?"

Dumbledore turned and fixed Harry with a guilty, reticent stare. "I am sorry, Harry. But the circumstances of this event caused deep suspicion in me. I had to ensure you had not been possessed by Voldemort again."

Harry was alert in a flash. Possession by Voldemort? He would have known, remembered the dream if it had been a vision. Dumbledore seemed to read his thoughts.

"You are wondering at my reasons, certain that you would have recognised the now familiar signs of Voldemort entering your mind," said Dumbledore. Harry nodded. "But I also ask you never to forget the brilliant, if obsessive, nature of Tom Riddle. He has a fixation with you and I am sure, once he discovered this direct link to you, that he would not wish to give it up so easily. The potential to torture and manipulate you through it would be too appealing to cast aside, despite your retaliation against it during our duel several months ago."

"So…you think he's trying to find other ways to use it?" Harry speculated. "Without it hurting him."

Dumbledore offered a wry smile. "Your powers of deduction are growing, Harry. I see Miss Granger's influence on you is already yielding results."

Harry stood and shook off the last tickles of discomfort. It allowed him to look around the room. It was an office of some sort, and they seemed to be in a round tower. The view from the thin window betrayed that they were in a fairly elevated location. It wasn't Hogwarts, Harry was sure of that. But they did appear to be in a castle, with flagged stone floors and ornate carvings in the brick work of the walls and supporting pillars for the roof. Harry turned back to Dumbledore.

"Hermione is a good influence on me. At least we can agree on _that_. Why didn't you let her come this morning?"

"The simplest reason," said Dumbledore, a crinkle of the old fire flickering in his eyes. "I feared that if I had subdued Miss Granger - as I did yourself and poor Dobby there - that the ferocity of your response would have been significantly detrimental to my health. I am an old man, Harry…I need to be wary of such things. I do not feel that raising a wand at Miss Granger in your presence will end well for the foolish wizard who attempts it."

Harry stirred at that, the truth of it not lost on him. He pushed the reasons aside for now, adding them to the bulging compartment of assessments on the topic that he was yet to find the courage to face.

"So why did you subdue _me_?" asked Harry. He crossed to a desk at the centre of the room and sat down, massaging his lower back, which was aching still from its collision with solid stone.

Dumbledore took a seat opposite Harry, considering him over his interlocked fingers. "You having a dream about Horace Slughorn last evening was too coincidental for me to ignore."

"Why? Who is he?"

"Horace is a former Potions Master at Hogwarts," Dumbledore explained. "He also happens to be one of the most sought-after fugitive wizards in Britain at this moment. Lord Voldemort is pursuing him relentlessly, placing him second only in importance to yourself right now. For that reason, The Order of the Phoenix is _also_ on the hunt for Horace. And it is imperative that we find him first, Harry."

"Why is he so important?"

Dumbledore considered Harry again, assessing his next step. "Horace is important because he is in possession of a vital piece of information about Lord Voldemort, a key to his vulnerability. The details of this will be the final confirmation of a theory I have been forming, but only Horace can validate my musings. Voldemort knows this - he divulged the nuances of his secret to Horace during his school days, where he was a favoured teacher. Now, he either wants to recruit him…or destroy him, to prevent his secret being discovered. Horace is his only loose end in this regard."

"And what's the secret?" Harry pressed. He was growing impatient.

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "The secret is that Tom Riddle has gone to greater lengths than any other wizard in history…to become immortal. He has delved into one of the Darkest forms of magic - the creation of _Horcruxes._ "

"Horcruxes?" Harry repeated. "What are they?"

"Receptacles, vessels…where one can safely store a part of the soul…once it gets _split_ …through the act of murder."

Harry felt the bottom of his stomach fall out. His jaw fell open but he had no air in his lungs to gasp. "S-split the _soul_? Is that even possible?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Splitting the soul can anchor the wizard to the mortal world, even if the physical body is destroyed. The existence is a half-life, a cursed life, at the same time less yet more than a ghost…but life it remains. Unconnected, drifting…"

"Until a new body can be formed," Harry breathed in horror, his mind racing back to that terrible night in the graveyard.

"Precisely," said Dumbledore. "Voldemort's body was destroyed during his failed attack on you as an infant, but he endured. He shared bodies with animals and other humans, until he regained physical form of his own."

"So this…H-horcrux thing…kept him alive," Harry speculated. "But, if we could destroy it, he could be killed?"

"An excellent deduction," said Dumbledore. "But, there is a slight problem. At least, I am theorising there is."

"What's the problem?" asked Harry.

"This," said Dumbledore. He pulled his sleeve up and pushed his blackened hand towards Harry. He turned his withered fingers to show the cracked ruby ring he was wearing. "This ring is an heirloom of the Gaunt family…Tom Riddle's ancestors. They were the last surviving wizards who could trace their lineage back to Salazar Slytherin himself."

"Wow." said Harry. "So Voldemort really was Slytherin's heir. But what happened to your hand?"

"I have been speculating on the possible items Riddle would have used as a Horcrux," said Dumbledore. "Creating a soul fragment is a terrible thing, but also a hugely risky one. You would need to provide such incredible protection for it, I'm sure you'd agree. My first idea would be to use something you could keep on your person, so jewellery would be my instinct. And I knew Tom Riddle better than most…it was I who visited the orphanage to invite him to Hogwarts."

"Oh, I didn't know that," said Harry.

"I was the Admissions Officer at the time," Dumbledore explained. "I did the job now bequeathed to Professor McGonagall. And it was a responsibility I happily gave up. But I met Tom Riddle as a boy, and I knew there was something Dark about him from that very first meeting. He was unnaturally skilled, in control of his magic without formal training. And his carers told me of his vicious streak, the way he bullied and intimidated the other orphans. He was demonstrating a sadistic nature as early as seven years old

"I made it my priority to keep a close watch on him. I noticed a possessive personality, he collected trophies of significant events…and victims. He was obsessed with the Hogwarts Founders and his own heritage. Once he knew about his connection to Slytherin, he threw himself into Parselmagic study. His own Muggle parentage was a source of self-hatred for him.

"I did not consider the possibility of Horcrux use until your first year at Hogwarts. I assumed his roaming essence - which we knew was in Albania - was some form of ghost. But when he possessed and shared a body with Quirrell, I knew that assumption was incorrect. Ghosts cannot behave in such a manner. So, I began to wonder what he might have used. An heirloom from Slytherin was the most likely item, and I remembered this ring from his last few years at school.

"Mundungus Fletcher unearthed it at an underground sale of Dark objects held in Bulgaria. Every wizard who touched it could feel its Dark power, but were wary of its potency. I had tasked Fletcher with bringing such objects to me, so he did. I knew it was a Horcrux instantly, so I put the ring on - to activate it. But Voldemort had imbibed it with a curse, only the swift actions of Severus Snape saved my arm."

"Snape saved you?" Harry scoffed.

" _Professor_ Snape, Harry," Dumbledore corrected, lightly.

"Don't expect me to respect _him_ ," Harry snapped. "If he had acted when I told him, Sirius might still be alive!"

"We have had this discussion, Harry," said Dumbledore tiredly. "Sirius' death was a tragedy, with blame in many locations. We should honour his sacrifice by making sure it was not in vain, despite the failings many of us made."

Harry went to protest but it caught in his throat. Dumbledore's meaning was clear - both men in the room had to shoulder a portion of the blame themselves, and Harry was only just coming to terms with his own part in it. He didn't want to dredge it up just when he was beginning to deal with his own guilt.

"So…the ring, or Horcrux…you destroyed it?"

"I did," Dumbledore confirmed. "The Sword of Gryffindor is a powerful magical artefact, Harry. The power imbibed in the blade cracked the ring, and destroyed the soul fragment trapped within."

"That means we can kill Voldemort then! He's mortal again!" Harry cried excitedly. He leapt up, keen to go and find Voldemort that instant to finish the job. But Dumbledore hadn't moved to match his enthusiasm, and Harry felt his bubble of hope pop at the sight.

"Alas…no," Dumbledore sighed. "Not yet."

"Why not?"

"Because an event occurred that had happened _before_ ," said Dumbledore. "Or, at least, an event I'd been _told about_ before…by _you_."

"Me?" Harry asked, startled. He fell back into his seat, confused.

Dumbledore nodded. "A spectral form of Tom Riddle as a younger man emerged before me when I put the ring on. I believe the curse was an attempt to possess the wearer, perhaps to push the soul fragment into a new host. Can you recall, perhaps, a similar event you once witnessed?"

Harry gasped as memories flooded into his mind. "The diary? The Chamber of Secrets?" Dumbledore nodded, that grave smile still pinching at the corners of his mouth. "Tom Riddle tried to possess Ginny Weasley…are you saying that a fragment of his _actual_ soul was trapped _inside_ the diary? Was it a Horcrux, too?"

"I believe so. And, like with myself, I would be amazed if the possession hasn't left some residual effect, that we are even yet ignorant of. We should be very cautious of Miss Weasley."

Dumbledore rotated his blackened hand as if to emphasise his point.

"Sweet Merlin…Voldemort spilt his soul more than once? How many times do you think he did it?"

"I can only guess," said Dumbledore. "And even though my guesses are often more reliable than most people's facts, in this instance I must put my own arrogance aside. I do believe, however, that he didn't stop at two."

"How can we find out how many he made?" asked Harry. "Is there any way I can get into his head and check…wait…am _I_ one? Am I a Horcrux? Is that why I can feel his emotions and have this connection to his mind?"

"For the longest time, I thought that was a possibility," Dumbledore confessed. "But your connection to Voldemort is far more profound. I thought, perhaps, his soul fragment had latched onto you as a baby. But then I realised my error; to create a Horcrux, the soul fragment must be purposely forced into the vessel chosen for the purpose. I do believe he intended to use your murder as part of the Horcrux-creation ritual. You would be just the sort of significant death that would please him. But, in that instance, he would have taken the object in which he'd chosen to store that particular fragment of his soul with him to Godric's Hollow that night. I searched the wreckage of your parents house extensively for such an object, but found none. Either I have overlooked something…or someone else removed it. My investigations into this are ongoing."

"So, we have no way of knowing how many Horcruxes are out there?" asked Harry, bitterly.

"We have just one…Horace Slughorn," said Dumbledore. "I learned long ago that Horace had spoken with Riddle about Horcruxes when he was a student. There used to be a book in the Hogwarts library that covered the subject. Tom checked it out. It was housed in the Restricted Section, obviously, so I went there when my theory was forming, to see just whom had signed the permission slip."

"And it was Professor Slughorn," Harry deduced.

"Indeed it was," Dumbledore confirmed. "I hunted Horace down once I knew, forced the memory out of him. But when I viewed it, I noticed evidence of tampering. He had, indeed, discussed Horcruxes with Riddle, including how many could be created. But the key detail - the number - is missing. I have been trying to relocate Horace ever since, but he is a clever and powerful wizard. He is avoiding capture by both us and the Death Eaters.

"But, last night, I heard Voldemort, himself, was actually out in the world. One of our tracking charms had detected his Apparition signature. I surmised he had found Horace, so I immediately went to confront him."

"And was he there?"

"He was," Dumbledore nodded. "We duelled briefly, and in the ensuing melee, Horace escaped. Neither of us were there to fight one another. So Voldemort and the Death Eaters fled when the Auror Corps arrived."

Harry was suddenly struck with a flash understanding. What he had seen as Dumbledore's inactivity was now just an obvious waste of his energy. "You knew it was pointless to fight Voldemort…because even if you _beat_ him, he wouldn't be killed. Any one of his Horcruxes could just be used to reanimate him again."

Dumbledore smiled with twinkling eyes. "Thank Miss Granger for me when you see her. And apologise, also. If I had known she could have wrought such an improvement in your mind so quickly, I'd have insisted you stay with her every Summer!"

Harry grinned at that. What a wonderful thing _that_ would have been!

"I'll tell her," said Harry. "So, Voldemort was thinking about Slughorn last night. That's why I dreamt about it?"

"I think so," said Dumbledore. "My theory is that your reverse possession of him at the Ministry those months ago has burst open the connection between you. I doubt he's even aware of it. When your minds are relaxed, a conduit opens between them. Voldemort has been forcing it open for so long now that he probably barely notices it anymore. I imagine he is always loosely aware of your thoughts, even if he doesn't delve into them."

Harry was slightly horrified at that, his concerns all directed at Hermione, and the frequency of his thoughts about her. He _had_ to learn to close his mind.

"But now, you have access to _his_ thoughts," Dumbledore continued. "I would ask, Harry, that you do not attempt to explore this connection. I can guess you and Miss Granger will cotton onto that possibility fairly quickly. It may be something to investigate in the future, but not until we have strengthened your own mental defences. Please, take my advice on this."

Harry huffed, but knew that the Headmaster was right. "Okay. But what about this Slughorn character? He cant just be left out there."

"He wont be. I have been given credible intelligence to his location. I am going to find Horace tonight."

"How do you know where he is?"

"Allow an old man some secrets, Harry," Dumbledore replied, gently. "Especially as Lord Voldemort might be listening as we speak."

"Then take me with you," said Harry. "I can help. Four eyes are surely better than two."

Dumbledore pierced Harry with his x-ray like stare. Then he nodded. "Very well. Do you have your wand?" Harry drew back his sleeve to reveal his wand holster. Dumbledore smiled. "A very useful addition to your armoury. Come then, let us visit my source, find out where Horace is hiding now."

"Who's the source?" asked Harry, leaping up in his excitement.

"My new Defence Against The Dark Arts professor," Dumbledore explained. "Her daughter has some very _interesting_ gifts…"

* * *

Hermione was fuming, pacing round and round her living room as she digested the news. Each circuit made her more and more furious and her irritation wound tighter. Her mother and father watched anxiously, both now convinced of their growing assumption that there was more to their daughter's connection to Harry Potter than she'd previously confessed. The evidence was playing out vividly before them.

"So, Dobby, tell me again…Harry and Dumbledore are going _where_?" Hermione asked for the third time.

"Dobby does not know exactly," the elf replied, pulling on his ears in his own worry. "And they be making sure Dobby could not follow. Headmaster be powerful wizard."

Hermione growled in her frustration. Her mother wrung her hands apprehensively as she watched Hermione continue to pace. "Honey, you need to calm down. You'll give yourself a seizure the way you're going."

"Calm down? _Calm down!"_ Hermione cried, rounding on her mother. "Harry is out there, facing all sorts of who-knows-what danger, and I'm just twiddling my thumbs here…and you want me to _calm down_!?"

"All we're saying, dear, is that Harry is with the Headmaster," David Granger offered placatingly. "I'm sure he'll be fine. You're getting yourself all worked up -"

"Don't you _dare_ say it's _'over nothing'_!" Hermione shot, dangerously. "My best friend is out there…and there's a wizard at large who's trying to kill him! You understand that, don't you?"

"Of course we do," said Catrin, gently. She stood and took Hermione's hands. "We know how important Harry is to you. But fretting like this will only make yourself ill. Harry wouldn't want that. I know he wouldn't."

Hermione huffed at that, but at least it served to stop her perpetual motion. "I just feel useless, sat here, while he's out facing danger without me…again."

David peered at Hermione over the top of his wire-rimmed spectacles. "I have to ask, sweetheart…and don't go all mental on me…but where has this restless need to protect Harry come from?"

Hermione span and glowered at her father. _Now_? They were going to have _the talk_ now? Of all the times! Catrin seemed to sense the rise of her ire, and stepped in to offset the emotional explosion building within her daughter.

"We aren't pushing for anything… _intimate_ , honey," said Catrin. "We're just trying to understand."

"Really, Mum? You as well?" Hermione cried, unmasked anger in her voice. "We've been over this!"

"Hermione, I think we've been remarkably patient with you," Catrin replied, stubborn in the face of her daughter's fury. "We've allowed Harry into our house, and though its taken time, he does seem to be warming to us. We know we can't help him, but we can help _you_ …if you just give us some idea about why this fires you so much."

Hermione sighed crossly and sat cross-legged on the hearthrug between the two couches of the living room, upon which her parents had been occupying one each. She scrunched her eyes shut and conceded to her mother. She was right. They had been awfully accommodating. Hermione was sensible of their concern for her, and thankful for it, but it paled into comparison for her own concern for her absent friend. The truth of that stuck somewhere deep in her chest, but she'd deal with that later.

Hermione took another breath. "Harry, he…he's had a wretched life," she began slowly. "After his parents died, he was placed to live with his Aunt and Uncle. They are the most horrendous of people. They hated him, they…they _abused_ him. Mentally and physically. Harry's never told me all the details, but I do know that they did such things as encouraged their own son to physically batter Harry - as he was a much bigger boy - and they regularly starved him.

"Take that as entry level abuses…and I'm sure you can imagine the rest."

"Oh dear Lord!" Catrin breathed in horror. "How could they? To a _child_."

"We had no idea it was so bad," David added lowly, his face etched in concern. "He…doesn't look the stereotype, if you know what I mean."

Hermione nodded. She did know…and the knowing broke her heart. "Harry got used to hiding it well. He's ninety-percent introverted, to be honest. They boy that most people see is just the surface level that he allows them to. Not many get beneath that."

"But you're one of them?" asked David.

"And I'm covetous of it," said Hermione firmly. "Harry is so selfless, so brave and noble. He saved me from a twelve-foot troll before we were even friends. In truth, he was reckless and stupid and had no idea what he was doing. But he came for me when no-one else did, took an interest in my well-being when others just ignored me."

"Oh, _honey_!" Catrin cried. "Are you saying Hogwarts was just like Primary School for you? We assumed it was better…because you made friends for the first time."

Hermione closed her eyes sadly. "I honestly don't think it would have been any different if it wasn't for Harry. Perversely, being nearly killed by a troll was the best thing to have happened to me."

"How so?" asked David, unspeakably pale at the mention of his daughter's near-death experience.

"We'd been at Hogwarts two months when the troll incident happened," said Hermione. "I hadn't made any friends, but I told myself I didn't care. I'd gotten along just fine without friends before, why should this be any different, right? I know I'm difficult to get along with. Don't look at me like that! You know I am! I always tried to be helpful to my classmates, but I just came across as snobby and bossy. I'm a bit socially retarded, actually."

"Now _that_ isn't true!" Catrin replied, loyally.

"Oh, it is," said Hermione. "I distance myself from people if I think they bring nothing to my life…or that they'll hurt me. I've psycho-analysed myself quite thoroughly over the years. I use books and cleverness as a shield. But, that Halloween night, I actually regretted not having friends for the first time.

"Ron Weasley - our other _friend_ \- had really upset me in the day. We'd been paired together in class and I did my usual thing of trying to help him, by bossily correcting his mistakes, so he could do it right. But Ron is a jealous, bitter boy, and he absolutely _loathes_ being criticised. He was really nasty about me after class and I heard him. I spent the day crying in a disused toilet."

David clenched his jaw. "But…why did he upset you, if you had decided to be okay with being isolated?"

"I wondered a lot about that," Hermione confessed. "And the answer was a bit scary to process. It…it was, I think, because he'd complained about me to _Harry_."

Hermione felt a blush steal over her cheeks as the memory gripped her. She recalled all the analysing she'd done in the aftermath of the troll event, the new ideas of relationships it had stirred in her, even at that tender age.

"I…I had noticed Harry from the very first day," Hermione continued, her voice painfully shy. "I'd read about him in a few books you bought me for extra reading. He has chapters in several of them."

"He…has _chapters_ on him? In textbooks?" asked Catrin, astonished.

Hermione nodded. "Harry is famous and important in the magical world. Far more than I could ever explain to you. So, naturally, I was fascinated by him. I'd heard whispers down the train on our first journey that he was on board somewhere. I was stupidly curious. It was like travelling with a character from a novel, or something. So I contrived a way to find him.

"And when I did, something happened that I really didn't expect. He…he took my breath away."

Hermione turned her eyes to the carpet. She didn't want to imagine what shade of red her skin was just now.

"That's understandable," said Catrin with a light smirk. "He is a very handsome boy."

Hermione smiled at that. "I know. But it wasn't just that. He was so shy and nice that it was adorable. And kind, too. He'd bought half the sweet trolley to share with Ron, who'd he had only met on the train that day. I'd heard tell that the Weasleys weren't well-off, so I knew Harry had paid for all the sweets. That was just the nicest thing to do, in my mind. For the first time, I'd actually met someone I _wanted_ to get to know better.

"But I was rubbish at socialising and making friends. Besides, Harry had made friends with Ron, who didn't like me from the word _go_. So I had no chance to get to know Harry aside from butting in to his life. Ron was a bad influence, leading Harry into mischief. And I tried to get involved, to steer him right, even threatening to tell on him. Obviously, that didn't endear me to him."

"But why did you want to…want to get to know him better?" asked David, shifting uncomfortably. Hermione fancied she could guess why. "You didn't know him…and you were only _eleven_."

His meaning was clear, and it wasn't lost on Hermione, but she ignored it for now. "Like I said, I was fascinated by him. But it quickly became less about his legend, and more about him as he was. He didn't make friends with anyone but Ron, really. Not even the other boys in his dorm. He was closer to Hedwig, his owl, than any of the other students. I used to see them just sat out in the grounds sometimes. It shocked me to see…because I knew that feeling on his face. He was _lonely_ …or so defensive that he was more comfortable isolating himself.

"He was just like me. And that was the last thing I expected of famous Harry Potter."

Catrin gasped, almost on the verge of tears. She looked like she wanted to grab her daughter, and hold her fast. But she restrained herself.

"I've thought a lot about that in the intervening years," Hermione went on. "Harry was bullied by his cousin, shunned at Primary School. He'd have not had friends, either, like I didn't. He was socially cautious, so for him to race to my rescue was quite something for him. I made it my business to be brave, to get to know him in spite of how awkward I am with people my age. And I've gotten to know him very, very well.

"But he has almost no-one close in his life, no-one to really care for him. No parents, his Godfather killed just last year, his only living relatives as bad as his enemies. Which leaves just me and Ron. Ron…who's abandoned Harry on several occasions, guilt-tripped him, made him feel ashamed for having the fame and glory that Ron craves. And now we've learned that members of his family have joined the Dark wizard on the other side of this War. Ron, himself, might even be part of it.

"So, that just leaves me. I'm all Harry has in the world. The only one who cares just for him. Not his name, his scar, his legend, his destiny. Just the boy who's my best friend. And it's a position I hold gladly. I wouldn't give it up for anything. So forgive me if I'm a little fraught that Harry's out there all alone. Even with Dumbledore, who I'm also wary about. In fact, I'm wary about _everyone_. Harry's only safe if he's with me…and right now, I have no idea where he might be."

"Well…that clears that up!" said Catrin, shrewdly.

"It does," David agreed. "And, as we're on the topic…those rings you're both wearing. Care to explain those?"

Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes tiredly. "It's not what you think."

"Then what is it?" her father pressed.

"To put it simply, there's a better than even chance that Harry will die in this War," said Hermione grimly. Her mother went white at that. "But, if he doesn't, he wants his legacy and future secured, or spread out how he wants it. He asked me to help protect his financial assets, to guard against any exploitation of his wealth and status. I agreed."

"What does that mean, in real terms?" asked Catrin.

"In real terms…I have access to all of Harry's fortune," said Hermione. "It's a safeguard, should he be magically manipulated. His wealth is as good as mine in the eyes of the Wizard Banking System, and he cant do anything major with it without my agreement now."

"That…that sounds very much like a _joint account_ ," said David.

"That's the principle," Hermione replied, unabashed. "I don't intend to not be involved in Harry's life, and I have more interest in his concerns than anyone. I wont allow him to be hurt or abused, in any way, ever again."

"That sounds like a hell of burden for a young girl to take on," said her father. "Isn't there anyone else who can help?"

"Not like this," said Hermione. "Though Harry can appoint a Regent, to manage his estate until he comes of age. The problem is, we don't really trust anyone enough with the responsibility."

"Is there really no-one?" asked Catrin. "It sounds to me that what Harry needs is some sort of magical guardian. Someone to guide him, head his house, so to speak."

 _Head his house…_ Hermione digested the words as they span in her mind. Harry needed someone to be his Head of House, someone experienced in the world…someone they had no reason to distrust. Her mother was a genius. The bubble of an idea was now firmly fixed in Hermione's brain. She turned to Dobby, who was still rocking on his heels near the door.

"Dobby…I need your help. I need you to take me somewhere."

"Where we be's going, Miss Hermione Granger?" asked the elf.

"I need you to take me to one of the Hogwarts Professors…I need you to take me to Minerva McGonagall."

* * *

It was dark now, a chill wind sent mottled sea-spray splattering against the wooden walls of the decrepit old fisherman's cottage. Even in Summer, nights on the Orkney Islands were a cold, dreary affair. The North Sea was swelling in angry currents, crashing against the rocky walls of the small harbour. Broken bits of boat and upturned fishing crates littered the scene. It was as if the place had been abandoned years ago.

But Harry knew better.

For this was the third location they'd visited that night. The first was a run-down static caravan. Weeds had taken root in the rooms and the roof had several gaping holes exposed to the Scottish sky. Harry had looked skeptically at Dumbledore when they'd arrived. Surely, a powerful wizard such as the elusive Horace Slughorn would have chosen a better hiding spot.

That was until Dumbledore flicked his wand, and the whole thing changed. The decrepit van became as new, and included a barbed-wire fence and defensive spells hidden in gemstones, masquerading as pebbles around a small pond. Luckily, Dumbledore's Shield Charm proved powerful enough to deflect the attack.

"A Ruse Charm," Dumbledore explained. "Makes a location look completely different to its true nature. Horace was a Potions Master, but he also had an Honours Degree in Charms."

Harry hummed at that. "A Degree? Are there higher education options beyond Hogwarts, then? I never knew that."

"Of course there are, Harry," said Dumbledore breezily. "There are both vocational and academic routes. One can Apprentice in a chosen field to gain a more practical form of education, or else pursue academic disciplines for Degree-level learning. I'd have thought Miss Granger would have told you all about that. She has, after all, approached Professor McGonagall about potential post-Hogwarts options. I believe Minerva is considering offering to take Miss Granger as an Apprentice herself, should she be interested."

"I'm sure she would be," said Harry eagerly. "Transfiguration is her favourite subject, and I think Professor McGonagall is her favourite teacher. She'd find that appealing."

"Though, if I may be so bold, that isn't the _only_ thing she finds appealing," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "Her interest in your welfare is quite the equal of her academic commitments."

"I know," said Harry, shyly. "I don't deserve it. She's probably calling me all the names under the sun for not telling her in person that I was going with you tonight. I hope she forgives me."

"I'm certain she will," Dumbledore chuckled. "She cares for you a great deal. You can blame me for this indiscretion. I give you permission to lie profusely about me to save you from Miss Granger's palpable fury!"

Harry laughed at that. "Thank you, sir."

"Very well," Dumbledore replied. "Now then, let us see what imaginative ploys Horace has left for us."

The caravan was rigged with traps, including enchanted doors that slammed in your face, or whose handles were Portkeys, and candles that burned with a noxious gas. Harry had to be hurled out by Dumbledore's spell before he breathed in the poisonous fumes. Mr Slughorn really didn't want to be found.

The second location was much the same, only this time it was the beaten up top floor apartment of a tenement block in the town of Wick. The place looked like a den for drug abusers and prostitutes, but the discarded syringes were simply transfigured matches, while the blood spots on the bed sheets were actually dragons blood, not human.

"Slughorn really has gone to a lot of trouble," said Harry, watching in amazement as Dumbledore cancelled the Ruse, and the room became a respectable flat once more. "Why bother, if he's not going to be here?"

"Oh, I imagine he _has_ been, at one time or another," said Dumbledore. "Or that he was intending to be. Horace always was the most meticulous planner, with an obsessive attention to detail. Key skills for a Master Brewer. He wants each location to seem genuine…and to have a raft of potential places to hide. I suspect he has a network of locations all over the country. I'd be disappointed in my old friend if they didn't number into the dozens."

Harry scowled at that. "Then he could be _anywhere_."

"Do not let despair grip you, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Don't forget, we have an advantage Horace doesn't suspect. Miss Celesca Roth's information. I am finding her a remarkable girl. I look forward greatly to monitoring her progress at Hogwarts."

Harry couldn't help but agree. He'd found the girl fascinating himself. An _actual_ Seer - able to call upon her ability at will. Not some woolly stargazer like the centaurs, or a ninety-nine percent fraud like old Trelawney. But the genuine article, able to provide a roundabout location for their slippery quarry. She'd directed them to the far North of Scotland, and her information was proving accurate, even if they hadn't yet caught up to Slughorn.

Celesca's talent was certainly impressive, but Harry felt immensely sorry for her, too, for she had to wear a specially rune-imbibed hood to block out all the psychic signals that bombarded her mind on a daily basis. It had made her isolated and shy, which explained her aloof nature when they'd sort-of-met on Diagon Alley. Harry knew all about that - he and loneliness had been bedfellows for many years. But to be _physically_ impaired around people…that was a new sort of crappy altogether.

Horace Slughorn wasn't in the tenement either, though. So the trail had led here, to location number three, on the very wild coast of the remote Scottish island. Dumbledore seemed confident about this place; there was a steely glow to his eye, an energy radiating off him, suggesting he was ready for action.

"I think Horace is here," Dumbledore whispered.

"How can you tell?" Harry breathed back.

"After years of magical study, a wizard can learn to _feel_ magic, as though picking up on a scent," Dumbledore explained lowly. "If you like, I can begin your education in this area as part of your new study programme. But, for now, suffice to say I can sense a magical signature inside that cabin. Neither of our previous investigations had the like. Whilst I cannot be sure Horace is within, I am certain _someone_ is. We must be cautious in either case."

"What can I do?" asked Harry firmly.

"Take these stones, place them evenly around the perimeter of the yard," said Dumbledore. He handed Harry a number of long, crystal rods, which were thrumming with their own magical power. Harry was enthralled by them a moment. "They'll form an anti-Disapparition ward, to stop whoever is inside from escaping. Do it quickly…and quietly."

Harry did as he was told. Ducking low, he darted around the small wall that ringed the yard, pushing the rods into the moist soil he found there. He placed seven in total before he'd completed a circuit of the property and returned to Dumbledore. The Headmaster nodded to acknowledge a job well done, then swept his wand in a graceful arc. The crystal rods seemed to erupt with power a moment, Harry felt it crash into him like the rolling waves nearby, easily the equal of nature's unrelenting force. It was all he could do to keep his balance. It was a breathtaking display of magic.

Harry was _so_ going to get into _this_!

"Draw your wand, Harry," Dumbledore commanded. "I shall enter the property alone, to flush out whoever is hidden inside. I am an extraordinary wizard, Harry, but I am also one-hundred-and-fifty-five years old. My reflexes are not what they were. Should I be given the slip, I intend for you to subdue the wizard before he or she flees. Use _Stupefy_ , Harry…or something stronger if you meet resistance."

Harry shuddered with the thrill of edge-of-battle nerves. His wand shook slightly in his fingers, but he hid it by his side so that Dumbledore wouldn't see. The Headmaster pulled a fierce look to his features, then strode off with purpose towards the house. And in the dark of the garden, Harry waited.

For several dragging minutes, there was nothing. No movement, no noise. It was as if the dense magic of the anti-Disapparition ward was blocking out the very world. Harry simply watched the noiseless, crashing waves as if they were a silent movie. It was a bizarre sight. And Harry flicked his eyes across the cabin, unable to see Dumbledore inside, or hear him move, or detect any sense of life at all. But he knew there was life there, Dumbledore's assertion was beyond question. So Harry aimed his wand at the only door in the building, and counted the seconds of silence.

And then, quite abruptly, he was given a soundtrack.

There was a yell from the back of the house, a roar of angry pain. Then the windows exploded in flashes of light - red, then purple, then a brilliant yellow. Harry was thankful that green was missing from the spectrum. He could hear the crash of furniture, the splintering of wood, the cracking of broken crockery. There were another series of cries, the fall of desperate footsteps, another spell of electric blue…then all fell silent. Harry raced towards the house.

"Stay where you are!" Dumbledore cried. There was genuine anger and worry in his voice. He sounded _afraid_ for Harry. "I need to assess the house for traps."

"Did you get him, Sir? Do you have Slughorn?" Harry called back.

"Yes, I have him," Dumbledore confirmed. Harry couldn't help but whoop at the news. "He is restrained, but he put up a better fight than I expected. I must be going senile. Do _not_ enter until I give you explicit permission, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," said Harry, held fast as though Dumbledore had somehow spelled him in place, from wherever it was he was speaking, for Harry still couldn't see him.

It took several minutes, during which there were a series of small bangs, but eventually Dumbledore emerged from the darkness. His long beard had a singed hole in it, which was still smoking. Harry pointed at it in shock.

"Yes, a clever little incendiary hex," said Dumbledore mildly. "Quite inventive. I always knew having so much hair would prove to be a fire risk one day!"

Harry stood in slight awe that Dumbledore could make such light of the situation.

"What now then, Sir?"

"Now, I interrogate Horace," said Dumbledore, his light tone replaced by something altogether darker. "I warn you, Harry, this will not be pleasant."

"Sir?" Harry queried.

"Understand, Harry, Horace is an old friend," said Dumbledore. "But he is withholding information I want. Information I intend to get. I do not appreciate being hoodwinked. It is an insult to my considerable intelligence for such a thing to go unpunished. Horace will tell me what I want to know…or I shall extract it by force. That is the nature of this war now, Harry. If you want to be part of it, as you profess, you must see its ugliness for yourself."

Harry gulped, a shiver of nervous energy prickling over him. Dumbledore seemed… _dangerous_. There was an unapologetic callousness to his nature. Harry wasn't sure he liked seeing this side of his mentor at all.

"I'm ready, Professor," said Harry, stealing himself. "But, Sir…if he doesn't co-operate, and you have to extract the information…wont that count as resistance? What will you do then?"

Dumbledore sighed, weighty and deep. "In that case, Harry, Horace will not leave this cabin alive. I want more than anything for him to join our side, to come under our protection…but I cannot allow him to fall into the hands of the Death Eaters."

Harry swallowed hard at that. The black and white nature of it…this was the Dumbledore of legend…the one who hunted Dark Wizards for sport as a younger man. Harry was dizzied by a sense of foreboding. He and Hermione had discussed the possibility that Dumbledore had an agenda against him. In that instant, Harry truly hoped that they were wrong.

For he wanted no part in facing this fearsome incarnation of Albus Dumbledore as an enemy.

The idea was, frankly, terrifying. Harry had felt several times that he and Tom Riddle were not so unalike. Now, standing in the dense magical field of Dumbledore's presence, Harry felt the same fear of the Hogwarts Headmaster that was the legendary Achilles Heel of the Dark Lord. This was not someone you wanted as your adversary.

Dumbledore turned to his fell task. Harry followed him like an obedient puppy into the large main room of the cottage. And what he found there was so disappointing that he was hit was a profound sense of anti-climax. For he found Horace Slughorn slumped over the heavy dining table in the middle of the space. Slughorn was not as Harry had envisaged; he had imagined a powerful, thickset wizard in the mould of the athletic Death Eaters. Cool, suave perhaps, a swarthy operator capable of evading all attempts to capture him.

Instead, what Harry actually found was a male version of Molly Weasley.

Harry actually scoffed at the sight. Slughorn was ageing, balding and overweight to the point of obese. It was a good thing, Harry considered, that the oak table was so robust. It had to be to support Slughorn's paunch. Harry couldn't help but look less than impressed.

" _This_ is Slughorn?" Harry quirked.

"You sound surprised," said Dumbledore.

"I suppose I expected more," said Harry. "Not exactly the Bane of Death Eaters and Order Members I had in mind, Sir."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Do not let looks deceive you. Magic strengthens with age, and equalises out physical aspects that might have…er…gone to seed."

Harry cried out in derision. " _Gone to seed?_ This is gone to a whole ecosystem, Professor!"

Dumbledore gave him an admonishing look, but said nothing. Instead, he stepped forwards and forced Harry to stand behind him, then flicked his wand at Slughorn's slumped form. He was immediately bound to the chair by thick ropes at his ankles, wrists, and across his rotund chest. Another swipe of Dumbledore's wand, and a wordless _Rennervate_ spell later, and Horace Slughorn was looking groggily around the dim cabin.

"Albus! I demand you let me go!" Slughorn yelled, as comprehension dawned.

"You are in a position to demand nothing, Horace," said Dumbledore, conversationally. "I have disarmed you, bound you, and now I'm going to ask you some questions and make you some proposals. Choose right and answer truthfully, and you shall live. Lie…and I kill you where you stand. Or sit, as the case may be."

Slughorn paled. Harry could see that…even in the fast-fading twilight.

"If this is about the Horcruxes again…I've already told you the truth," Slughorn replied, undoubted pleading in his tone. "Please, Albus. I don't know what more you want from me."

"I want you to tell me how many Horcruxes Tom Riddle asked you it was possible to make," said Dumbledore. "You tampered with the memory you gave me. And you were stupid enough to believe I wouldn't realise it. You are aware, I believe, that Severus Snape is under my employ? The man is the pre-eminent authority on memory-modification in Europe. Merlin, he is regularly tampering with his own memories to hand to Lord Voldemort! He knows a forgery when he sees one."

Harry shot Dumbledore a look of utter surprise at that. It wasn't the time to press for more information on that topic, but Harry would _definitely_ be revisiting it later.

"So…the truth, Horace. I am waiting."

Harry had to begrudgingly give it to this fat wizard. He had more guts that he let on. Harry, like most others, would have quailed under the look Dumbledore was giving him just then. But Slughorn bore up to it stubbornly.

"I…I don't know what you're talking about, Albus… I swear it…"

Even Harry could tell the lie when he heard it. He didn't understand why Slughorn was still resisting. Dumbledore was his best chance, surely? What did he hope to gain from this deception?

"Horace…I'm going to give you one last chance to consider this offer," said Dumbledore. He turned to Harry. "Do you know who this is? It's Harry Potter."

Harry heard Slughorn draw in a startled breath. "T- _the_ Harry Potter?"

"Are there others?" asked Dumbledore cheerily. "Perhaps I've been trying to protect the wrong boy all these years. Of _course_ it's the real Harry Potter, you utter moron! Harry stands at my side, alive after skilfully avoiding death at Tom Riddle's hands on four occasions. He has now joined actively in this conflict. They are destined to meet again…and Harry will defeat him when they do. I'm offering you the chance to help, to be part of that. If you refuse…you place yourself as an enemy to Harry. In that case, I will eliminate you."

"Albus…we cannot win, there is no way," Slughorn moaned. "The Death Eaters are too strong this time. Dragons and giants, and the Muggles will be subjugated before any outward strike. It's on the verge of happening. You're too late."

"So, what?" Harry cried angrily. "You're just going to run like a coward?"

Slughorn's breath rattled in the dark. "I'm too old to fight. Especially to fight a losing battle."

"I don't intent to lose," said Harry, more certainly then he felt. "I have something to live for. I don't intend to let Voldemort take that away."

"You say his _name_!" Slughorn whispered. "I admire your courage, boy. Your parents would be so proud of you."

Harry tightened at that. "You knew my parents?"

"I did," Slughorn confirmed. "Taught them both. Exceedingly bright was Lily. A favourite of mine, if I do say so. And James…a gifted young man, if not a little unruly. But then, who isn't at such an age? I mourned their passing."

"Then honour their memory…by giving me the one of yours I want," said Dumbledore, his voice a degree more serious now.

"I cannot Albus," said Slughorn. "If Tom finds out I did, he will surely kill me."

"And you think he'll let you live if you don't!" Harry yelled incredulously. "You really are an utter moron! Don't you get it? You're dead either way. At least Dumbledore will make it _quick._ "

"Alas, a weakness of mine," Dumbledore confessed. "I never did take much pleasure in _drawing it out_. I almost wish Harry wasn't here. I am skilled in _advanced_ interrogation techniques…though I'm pretty sure most of them are illegal, in _any_ world."

Slughorn mumbled something incoherent at that.

"Last chance, Slughorn," said Harry, stepping forwards and pressing his wand to his forehead.

"I cannot," Slughorn repeated. A single tear slid from his eye. "I told him how…gave him the book. The deaths he committed…they are on my hands. I am owed to suffer for the crime…and better to do it in life than in death. Not just the ones he killed for his Horcruxes, mind you, but the others he killed to find the vessels, also. Even your own parents, Harry. I was told reliably by an old Death Eater that you were to be the significant death for his final one. To think I might have prevented it…"

"Who? Who told you that?" asked Dumbledore.

"No…I can't."

Dumbledore brandished his wand like a swordsman. A ribbon of fire erupted from the end, and wrapped itself around Slughorn's exposed forearm. He shrieked in high-pitched agony…and Harry breathed in the sickening aroma of seared flesh.

"Who…" Dumbledore repeated, as Slughorn wailed pathetically. "A name, Horace, and all this is over."

"Okay! Okay! Just make it stop!"

"The name!" Dumbledore thundered. The walls of the cabin shook against the Headmaster's fury.

"His name was Black…Regulus Black!" Slughorn whimpered.

In an instant, the string of fire vanished. Slughorn tried to move to cradle his arm, but the ropes bound him fast. He was reduced to blowing pitifully at his charred skin. Dumbledore made no move to ease his suffering. But Harry had little mind for that.

" _Regulus_ Black?" Harry whispered. "Is…isn't he related to Sirius?"

Dumbledore nodded. "He was his younger brother. He joined the Death Eaters as an impressionable young man, but was not thought to have held any great importance in the organisation. Well, this is news indeed. Harry, when we are done here, I feel there is another of your house-elves we ought to have a conversation with."

Kreacher! He was a stalwart of the Black family. He could know _who knew what_ about the Black family history. But Harry was mindful, already conditioned towards secrecy.

"Yes, Sir," he replied obediently. Then he turned to Slughorn. "As for _you_ …I - I forgive you. For your trespasses against my parents. Do the honourable thing…honour my mother's memory by telling us how many Horcruxes are out there. Then, perhaps, you can start to forgive yourself."

Slughorn sighed heavily, defeated. "Very well. You are a better man than I, Harry Potter. The number Tom asked about was seven. Seven Horcruxes. But I have no idea what, or where, they are."

Harry threw up a little in his mouth. _Seven_ bits of soul to find…even if they had destroyed two already…where in the hell were they supposed to start such a quest for the others?

"Is this the truth, Horace?" asked Dumbledore. "Your life depends on your answer."

"Yes…it's the truth," Slughorn breathed wearily.

"Very well," said Dumbledore. "Thank you, Harry."

He eased Harry away, who fully expected Dumbledore to release the binds on Slughorn, or to heal his arm. But he did neither. Instead, in an act so callous and cold that Harry was held frozen as if watching a car crash, Dumbledore pressed his wand to Slughorn's temple, and muttered spell after spell, causing the other wizard to scream against the searing pain. Harry wanted to block his ears against the tearing sound. But he couldn't move to look away.

It lasted a protracted minute and ended only when Dumbledore ripped a strand of memory from Slughorn's head. It didn't come easily, as Harry had seen Dumbledore pull his own memories. But it was torn, brutally stolen with vicious disdain. Dumbledore seemed unmoved by his actions, calmly storing the memory in a vial, which he pocketed once sealed.

Harry looked at Slughorn. His eyes were glazed, unfocused. He looked around in drunken confusion, as if seeing the world for the first time.

"What did you do to him?" Harry asked quietly.

"Served justice," Dumbledore replied, coldly. "This is the genuine memory. Seven Horcruxes makes sense. The number seven is a powerful number in magic, Harry. When we investigate ritual magic together, I will explain its cosmic importance. But I have to be sure. This memory will be the confirmation."

"But…Slughorn…he looks like Lockhart did, when he wiped his memory," said Harry.

"Horace was fortunate enough to lead a full and pampered life," said Dumbledore. "He curried favour with important people, ingratiated himself in circles of power and influence. And he wielded that for nothing but his own gain. He told Tom Riddle the sorts of Dark secrets no child should be told, hoping for repayment down the line. Well, Horace, consider your debt fulfilled. Pity it was not the kind of recompense you hoped for."

"So…you've wiped his memory? He wont know who he is or all the influence he had?"

"You really are Hermione Granger's protege," Dumbledore smiled. "I heartily approve, may I say. No, Horace will have no idea who he is, no idea how to use magic. In any case, I am taking his wand. I want him to have no defence against the fate he has brought upon himself."

"Are you saying we're just going to leave him here?" asked Harry. "What if the Death Eaters find him?"

"I do not care what happens to Horace once we leave this place, Harry," said Dumbledore, darkly. "If he is lucky, he will live out the rest of his days in blissful ignorance in some institution or another. I allow him that for telling the truth at the last. If the Death Eaters find him first, we can only hope, for his sake, they make his death quick. Either way, it amounts to the same thing. And I am unmoved by any of Horace's potential fates."

And he wasn't lying. Harry could feel that chilled rage in every syllable of Dumbledore's words.

"Now, I think we are done here," said the Headmaster. "I will return you to discuss all this with Miss Granger soon. But first, I need you to grant me access to the family seat of the House of Potter…the former House of Black. I will speak to Kreacher alone."

Harry mutely agreed. After _that_ display, he had zero intention of denying the will of Albus Dumbledore…whatever that might be.


	7. Happy New Year

Hermione knocked quietly on the bedroom door, but when Harry didn't answer she entered anyway.

She found a very odd sight inside. For a start, Harry had a book open on his lap, without Hermione having prompted him to put it there. That was bizarre enough in itself. But it was Harry's situation that really puzzled her, for he was sat cross-legged on the floor next to the bed, surrounded by a series of small, inscribed stones. Hermione cocked her head curiously, as she padded over the carpeted floor to sit nearby.

 _Rune stones?_ She thought to herself. Then she recognised them…they were her own set. She angled her head, to peer at the cover of the book resting on Harry's thighs, mindful of how it might look if she was caught staring _there_. It was her textbook for the Ancient Runes class at Hogwarts. Harry must have taken both things from her room while she'd been out with her mother.

But why?

Hermione tried to decipher Harry's configuration. Hagalaz, Wunjo and Gebo were among the runes. The spell seemed to be an attempt at clarity of thought, and breaking unhealthy patterns. What was Harry trying to do? Whatever it was, it seemed to be working. There was a subtle power about his circle, an effect Hermione had yet to be able to achieve herself. She was almost cross at that…that Harry had been able to produce an external magical force without any form of tuition.

Then again, Hermione accepted, Harry _was_ a great wizard…he really was. She shouldn't have been surprised, really. The power flowing around his circle was fairly low-level, but it had an air of control about it. Harry, it would seem, had an innate affinity to this type of magic. Hermione observed it in something like wonder, letting the little flecks of magical power fall onto her as they passed, swirling on a breeze of Harry's energy. There was something obscenely comforting about the sensation, as though Harry's very _magic_ was happy to let her sit there and watch him.

So she did.

And she found herself watching very closely, perhaps more than she should have. His hair was getting long now, and Hermione noticed the way it fell wildly about his temples and the base of his neck. It was silly how much attention she caught herself paying to it, but also to the rise and fall of Harry's chest as he breathed, to the pinch of his mouth as he exhaled. His lips looked firm, plump. The month staying with her had meant he was better fed, and he looked the healthier for it.

But his expression was the most fascinating thing. The control he was exerting over his magic, the calm certitude of his thoughts. It was _her_ expression, somehow on Harry's face. He never _thought_ like this, concentrated in such a focused way. But it gave his aura a sense of power, one Hermione only felt in truly strong wizards like Dumbledore and McGonagall.

But here was Harry…the equal of them both. It left Hermione a little breathless as she watched him.

Harry opened his eyes just then, but far from being startled to see her, he simply offered a warm little smile. It coiled like a knot in Hermione's belly, and she shifted to her knees to try and cope with it. It was causing her very skin to tingle from the inside out.

"Hey," Harry breathed softly.

"Hey," Hermione parroted. "What are you doing?"

"Meditating with the runes," said Harry without preamble, nodding around the circle as though he did this every day. "I don't know if I'm doing it right, but it's quite relaxing."

"Oh, I think it's right," said Hermione, firmly. "I can feel your energy from here. Is…is this your first go at this?"

"Yes and no," said Harry. "I borrowed the book when I came back from being out with Dumbledore. I snuck into your room when you were taking a bath. I hope you don't mind."

Hermione felt her mind whirlwind at that. Why had Harry included the detail about her being in the bath? That seemed unnecessary…but _he'd_ remembered it. Fire pooled in Hermione's stomach, melting the knot that had been twisting there. Now _that_ was a new reaction…and to Harry no less. Hermione squeezed her thighs and rose to her knees, sitting on her ankles and tried to shake the sensation away. It was wrong and right all at the same time.

"No…it's fine," she mumbled after a minute. "And the rune stones?"

"I only borrowed them," Harry said guiltily. "I was going to put them back before you noticed but…but I suppose I lost track of the time."

"Harry, it's okay, really," said Hermione, soothingly. She made half a move to pat his arm, to calm his unease, but she knew how intimate entering such a ritual circle would be, so she snapped herself back. "I don't mind you using my things. Help yourself, whenever you like. Just try not to play with my dolls' house. It's an antique."

Harry grinned at her. "No promises. But I'll try not to break it if I get tempted!"

Hermione laughed at that. "What are you trying to do though? Why have you created a ritual space at all?"

"It's more meditative than ritual," said Harry. "Probably why I got it to work after a few tries. Like I said - it sort of _is_ and _isn't_ my first go. I've been at this all morning."

"But why?"

"I…I need to clear my head."

"Don't be cryptic," Hermione huffed. "What's wrong?"

She didn't really need to ask. Harry's horror story of his trip out to visit the mysterious Horace Slughorn was enough to send anyone into a shell. Hermione had been fighting fires with Harry's moods for the three days since it had happened. She wondered if one had finally gotten the better of her. But Harry's answer was…unexpected.

"I'm wondering if _I_ am…if I'm _wrong_ ," Harry confessed, glumly. He cancelled his circle. Hermione felt the energy dissipate away, and was oddly mournful at its loss. "I…I think I may be _broken,_ Hermione."

"What do you mean _broken_?" asked Hermione, sharply alert in her concern.

Harry sighed heavily. "I know you've been worried about me since I went out with Dumbledore," he began. "Expecting me to fall back into despair. But that's just the thing…I'm _not_. And, which is the worst bit, I don't think I'm _going_ to."

"I don't understand. You're _not_ unhappy…but you still need to clear your head?"

"Exactly," said Harry. "I know what I _should_ feel. But I just don't. Hermione…Dumbledore _tortured_ that Slughorn bloke. He wasn't even shy about it. And I should be all affected and shaken up by it…only I'm not. I was fine with it. If anything, I think Dumbledore should have finished the job himself. What does that say about me?"

Hermione was shocked for about three seconds, then her head righted itself. And she allowed herself a new thought. What did _she_ really think about it? Did she care that Harry had witnessed a torture? Not really…not if he wasn't damaged by the experience. As long as _he_ was okay, she was pretty much onside with a bit of pro-activity - now it had finally happened. If it meant one of his enemies suffered in the course of keeping him safe, Hermione fancied she was rather comfortable with the situation. That was an entirely new understanding.

And she wondered at herself for accepting it so readily.

"It says you've had enough with the molly-coddling - excuse the pun," said Hermione. They both frowned at the Weasley inference. "Look, Harry, this is War. It isn't going to be pleasant, like you said. While I'd much rather you not have _seen_ a torture - and I'd be pretty concerned if you had carried it out yourself without remorse - it at least shows you are steeled for this. I wouldn't dwell on it."

Harry looked at her in reverence. Hermione blushed under his gaze. "So…you don't think it's weird or that I'm g-going _dark_?"

Ah, the crux of the matter. Hermione blew out a relieved breath. "Is that what this is?"

"Why do you sound surprised? Don't you think it's reasonable?" Harry stood and moved to the window, leaning on his fists as he looked out across Abingdon, to the spires of Oxford just visible against the brilliant azure of the afternoon sky. "I should be disgusted, be having nightmares and visions…but I'm not. I…I'm _glad,_ Hermione…glad that someone is _finally_ doing something against our enemies."

Hermione rose and moved to join Harry at the window. Tentatively, with her breath sticking somewhere at the top of her throat, she slowly slid her hands up to rest on Harry's shoulder blades, before pressing her head against his spine. She felt the muscles of his back tauten, and his own breathing was doing funny things, but he made no move to push her away.

"Harry - all this Light and Dark stuff…it's a bit of a nonsense, really," said Hermione, enjoying the body warmth radiating from Harry's back. He was unexpectedly _solid_ ; Hermione found herself surprised by the visceral mass of him.

"What does that mean?"

"Only that there are people, that's all," Hermione went on. "Their actions are given all these tags, but I doubt anyone is so polarised. Think of it like this - if, or _when_ , you face up to Voldemort again, and you can see the tinge of green in the Killing Curse in the tip of his wand, what are you going to counter with? Harsh language? I'd expect you to fight…to survive. That means _hurting_ , doing damage…killing, if that's what it takes. I wont hesitate if it comes to that, and I doubt you would, either. I'd like to think you'd do whatever was necessary to protect yourself…or me, for example."

"If anyone threatened you, I'd gut them," Harry blurted out, viciously.

He seemed to freeze, as though he'd gone too far. But Hermione found herself smiling into his back. Emboldened, she slid her hands down and around his waist, locking her fingers where they met at his abdomen. Harry leaned back into her hug and, despite it being the latest in a long line of hugs, Hermione felt this was the most intimate moment they'd ever shared.

And she was mindless at how natural it felt. But she had to stay in the moment.

"That's nice to know," she whispered. Loose strands of Harry's hair were tickling her forehead. "I'd do the same. Just saying."

Then Harry surprised her. He slid his hands over her own, squeezing them beneath his palms. Hermione closed her eyes at his touch, trying desperately to order her rampaging thoughts. But all she could focus on was Harry's electric, white-hot skin, pressing, smoothing against her own. Her rational mind couldn't process it, and she had to concede to her heart, normally so subdued in the power structure of her being. It was beating hard, those oft-forbidden desires rushing to the surface. She should act, do something. But she was so cosy she didn't want to risk it. Harry was the courageous one, he would have to take the next step…if there was to be one.

"Hermione," Harry said softly, his voice quivering deliciously. "Did you ever think you'd end up there?"

Hermione's eyes shot open. Her pulse sped in her neck, blood whooshing loud in her ears. Was Harry actually asking _that_? She had to know.

"E-end up where?" she stuttered.

"In Oxford, in one of the Muggle Colleges," said Harry. "I bet you'd have gotten into any of them you wanted."

Hermione let out the breath she had been holding, equally relieved as disappointed. That was close. She was pacified by Harry's compliment, even if half of her had hoped for more. It seemed a good time, so she disengaged herself from the hug and moved to stand at Harry's side, allowing her a view of the university city in the distance.

"I always expected I would," said Hermione. "You've probably guessed that I've always been near the top of my classes. I passed mock GCSE exams when I was just ten. I took them for fun."

"Fun?" Harry quirked. "You always were a bit of an odd chick, then?"

Hermione laughed. "I don't know that I was ever a _chick_. My feminism should be offended by that."

"But it's not?"

"Only because it's you," Hermione blushed. "Your cheeky grin makes it hard to be too cross with you."

"What was I doing for fun at ten?" Harry pondered. He pondered for a good while. "I actually don't think I _had_ fun till I was eleven."

"Oh, _Harry_ …"

"Please don't pity me, Hermione," said Harry, quietly. "I don't like it. Not from you."

"Okay," she replied, trying to decipher what Harry meant by that. "I'll just be angry for you, plot revenge instead. Perhaps we should look into voodoo. Make dolls for those bastards you call family."

"I never called them _family_ ," said Harry, darkly. "But, yeah, voodoo sounds like a good bit of extra-curricular fun."

"But didn't you ever think about your future?" asked Hermione. "I pretty much expected to fly through high school and college, then pick my choice of universities in Oxford, once I'd decided on what I was going to study. I had it all planned out. Didn't you?"

Harry gave a hollow laugh. "Hermione, you should have seen the clothes I was expected to wear to Stonewall High School. Old cast-offs of Dudley's, several sizes too big. The only reason my Aunt sent me to school at all was to get me out of the house, and to keep social services from knocking on the door. I fully expected to get my head kicked in from day one. I'd heard all the horror stories about Stonewall. I wasn't thinking further than surviving from day-to-day, to be honest."

"Harry…that's terrible!" Hermione cried, angry tears welling in her eyes. "I'm going to get them, Harry. I promise. They wont get away with this."

"They aren't worth it," said Harry. "They are running scared for their lives as it is. Don't waste your breath on them."

"They may not be worth it, Harry…but _you_ are!" said Hermione, vehemently. "I wont forget this. And they _will_ live to regret it. They'd better pray Voldemort finds them before I do."

Harry turned to her with wide, stunned eyes. It was clear he never expected anyone to come to his rescue. What that spoke to Hermione's heart only made it beat faster and harder for him. The mood was threatening to turn south again.

"Hey, shall we go? Into Oxford, I mean. Might be nice to get out of the house."

"It would be," said Harry, brightening at the idea. "But it might not be safe."

"We have Dobby," said Hermione. "And we wont stay long. Oh, come on, Harry! It's such a nice day. It'd be a shame to waste it."

"Okay," said Harry, relaxing. "We should tell your Mum, though."

Half an hour later, after much animated debate with Catrin, Harry and Hermione were strolling through the sunlit streets of Oxford. Dobby, invisible, was trotting around somewhere keeping a watch for anything unusual. But everything felt calm and pleasant. Hermione chatted merrily about the different colleges as she gave Harry a tour, explaining how she'd planned on applying for Magdalen, but preferred the grounds at Trinity. Harry was enamoured with the spiky roof of Exeter College, and the glorious architecture of Radcliffe Camera.

Hermione was pleased to see Harry appreciating the beauty of the city. He seemed to be enjoying himself, relaxed and at ease. It was a side of him Hermione had not often seen, and it broke her heart as she thought of it. Her memory hitched on the idea of Harry not having fun until he reached Hogwarts, and that even there his fun was tainted with danger. Quidditch, his first love, had been a brutal form of enjoyment at times.

But here he was, basking in something far simpler. Grand buildings and libraries and museums, all heaving with the accumulated knowledge acquired over centuries. Hermione had always revelled in the subtle power of Oxford, as though the academic pursuits created an energy all of their own. She never imagined she would share this with anyone, that anyone else would quite understand.

But here she was, with Harry, doing just that. And it gave her a sense of fulfilment more potent than she could have ever dreamed. On reflex, without really thinking, she slid her arm into Harry's as they walked. Again, he didn't push her away. His cheeks coloured slightly and he didn't look directly at her, but Hermione could have sworn she saw the hint of smile touch at the corner of his eyes. What did that mean? And what did it mean that this felt so right?

Just then they passed the Ashmolean Museum. Outside, a lady was handing out flyers for a new exhibition. Harry took one as they passed.

" _Myth, Magic and Monsters_ ," Harry read. He looked up the huge banner depicting a dragon and a unicorn. He grinned to Hermione. "Shall we? Could be a laugh."

Hermione wasn't so sure, but then the flyer-lady spoke to them.

"It really is a fascinating exhibition," she totted out. "And we have a special discount rate for couples that includes a free commemorative photo. Twenty-five percent off."

"Oh, we aren't a couple," Hermione started to say, but Harry cut her off.

"Great, we'll take the couples discount," he said quickly. He fished into his jacket and handed over a crisp twenty-pound note. There was no change.

"Just head on up," said the flyer-lady, tearing them off a ticket. "Have your picture taken in the foyer and the exhibit galleries are just to the left. Enjoy."

"Thanks," said Harry, guiding Hermione up the steps. She turned to him questioningly just then.

"Harry…?"

"What?" he grinned mischievously. "It was a good deal. Or are you embarrassed to be seen with me? It's like Rita Skeeter all over again."

"Harry…what…?"

But before he had chance to answer, he was steering her into the museum. Harry handed over their ticket and an eager photographer shimmied them in front of a green screen. There was a sort of hobby-horse contraption there with two seats. Hermione eyed it suspiciously

"Now then," said the photographer. "We can create pretty much any mythical beast for you to ride. A dragon, maybe, or Pegasus himself. Any preference?"

Harry grinned at Hermione again. "Er…can you do a hippogriff?"

"Ah-ha! A real fan of mythology!" cried the photographer. His eyes lit up as though Harry's request had made his day. "A hippogriff it is. Now then, Miss, if you want to take the front seat - that's it - and if your boyfriend can just clamber on behind - there, perfect. Now, put your arms around her, you're protecting her whilst riding a wild beast, after all! A bit closer, more intimate. There we go. You've obviously done this before. And you make such a cute couple. Yes, that's the most natural pose I've seen all day. Now…smile…say _magic cheese_!"

Harry laughed at that, Hermione felt the rush of hot breath against her cheek from where Harry had his head on her shoulder. But that was all she could feel, or think, for her mind was circling Saturn somewhere. A hippogriff? Harry had chosen that _on purpose_. Hermione's mind whirled, she remember stumbling upon the symbolic meaning of riding a hippogriff not long after they'd done it. She didn't know if Harry knew any of it. That was too monumental to consider.

But it wasn't just that. Harry had jumped to make use of them _looking_ like a couple…and the photographer seemed utterly sure. He'd even used the term _boyfriend_. Hermione couldn't quite wrap her head around that. And there were people watching as the camera snapped away. A couple of teenage girls in the small crowd were swooning.

Hermione couldn't really blame them. Harry was holding her just so, impossibly close, dare she say… _tenderly?_ She was really powerless against melting into his embrace.

All too soon, the photographer was snapping his last picture. He helped Harry from the hobby-horse, and Hermione slid off in a sort of drunken stupor behind him. She vaguely heard something about collecting the photo on the way out, then Harry was guiding her around the exhibition.

But Hermione had no mind for any of it. She nodded and offered stock responses as Harry laughed his way around the absurdities of the Muggle interpretations of magic. There was a section on ritual circles that Harry found fascinating, and an expose on blood magic that wasn't a million miles away from the truth. It was only when they came to a section on potion brewing that Harry demanded Hermione's attention.

"Earth to Hermione? Didn't you hear me?" he asked.

No, she hadn't. She was too busy thinking about him being her boyfriend.

"Sorry, Harry, I was miles away," she offered apologetically. "What were you saying?"

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, concerned. "You look like you've been hit with the Imperius."

"No…no I'm okay," said Hermione. "The sun's made me a bit tired, that's all. I should have put some sun lotion on my scalp. What were you looking at?"

" _This_ ," said Harry, quietly. "How do they know that?"

There was something serious in his tone that sobered Hermione up in a shot. She followed his line of sight, to a display case with a large, reptilian skull inside.

" _A flying reptile from the Jurassic Era,"_ Hermione read. " _Recently discovered in the Outer Hebrides. Possibly the source of the dragon legends of the British Isles. Dragons here were a source of great resource according to the myths of the time, with their teeth being used in fertility potions, and their very blood having as many as twelve uses for various magical endeavours."_

Hermione gasped. She looked at Harry, who's playful nature had vanished. She wondered just how long he'd been like this, while Hermione was off with the horny fairies.

"How _do_ they know that?" she whispered.

"It's not the only thing," Harry replied, quietly. "Some things are a little too close to home. I don't think this exhibition is as innocent as it lets on. Not only that…I don't think we're the only magicals here. Don't ask me to explain it…but I can _feel_ it. Someone's watching us."

Hermione looked around nervously, the hair on her neck pricking up. There were a lot a faces, a throng of people. It was tough to pick out anyone in the crowd…so Hermione became suspicious of all of them.

"What do we do?"

"I think we should leave," said Harry. "Naturally, though. I don't know where Dobby is, but it's too crowded for him to reveal himself. We should make it look like we've seen everything, make a fuss over picking the picture up. Then, once we're outside, we have to find somewhere secluded where Dobby can become visible again."

Hermione nodded. Harry started walking, then stopped suddenly, pointing at a set of photos of a Druidic ritual being held. But his eyes were looking past that, into the foyer beyond.

"That man, in the beige trenchcoat," he muttered under his breath. "Do you see him?"

"Yes."

"I've spotted him at least three times in the last few minutes. He stood out…I mean, who wears a trenchcoat when it's thirty degrees outside? I think he's following us."

"We have to get out of here," said Hermione. She gripped Harry's arm on instinct. He turned to her, furious determination on his face.

"Try not to be frightened," said Harry, lowly. "If he makes a move at us, I'll make him regret it. Look, there's a souvenir stall. They sell fake magic wands. Let's buy two…then swap them for the real thing."

"Good idea!" said Hermione.

They hurried to the stall and made their purchase. A quick bit of slight-of-hand later and their own wands were in their hands. Hermione felt infinitely better and looked at Harry. His expression startled, even _frightened_ , her a little. His emerald eyes were glittering with fury, his magic actually throbbing with insane power from his wand, where it was held at his side. Hermione felt it like heat on her calves, which were exposed below the hem of her skirt. Her fear drifted away; she felt utterly safe as long as Harry was with her.

Then Hermione grew angry. This wizard was threatening _Harry_. Oh…how much of a mistake would it be for him to act on that threat! Hermione chewed on her lip as she and Harry made it to the foyer. The trench-coated wizard was blatantly staring at them now, his own fist closed around something in his pocket. Hermione would have bet all the gold in her and Harry's vault that it was gripping his wand.

Harry and Hermione made to leave, but just then the photographer called out to them.

"Hey! Mr and Mrs Hippogriff rider! Don't forget your photo! It's my best work of the day."

Harry huffed, but wheeled around and headed for the photo station. He accepted the picture, which was tacked into a little card sleeve, and opened it up. In a moment, his mood changed, softened. He looked at Hermione with the most curious semi-smile in his eyes, then offered her the picture.

And she understood the change in him immediately.

For there they were, clutched together atop a very well imagined hippogriff. It could have _been_ Buckbeak, if the eyes had been the right colour. But that wasn't what was so breathtaking. It was the way Harry and Hermione looked in the picture. They were hopelessly close, looking for all the world as if they _were_ a couple. The level of comfort they showed with such physical intimacy made it seem as if they'd been that way forever. Hermione couldn't quite conceptualise that.

But then, Harry's mood darkened again and he turned away. But, instead of heading for the door and the sunshine outside, he made his way straight for the trench-coated wizard. The older man seemed startled at Harry's aggressive move, and Hermione could see him tense up, ready to pounce. Hermione, suddenly afraid for Harry, hurried up behind him until they were less than a foot from each other.

Then Harry started speaking to the strange wizard. And his voice was so low and dangerous that even Hermione felt a little scared of him.

"I don't know who you are, or what you want," said Harry, looking at a point just over the man's shoulder. "But whatever you are planning to do, I'd forget it. If you raise your wand at this witch, I will cut off your cock and ram it down your throat. I'll cause you so much pain that you'll regret accepting that bag of Galleons in your pocket."

Harry flicked his furious eyes up at the wizard, who paled under the intensity of Harry's stare.

"I am going to leave now," Harry went on. "And if you follow us, I will curse you so hard not even your dental records will be enough to identify your corpse. Understand? Nod once if you do. Any other movement and I will unleash the Blasting Hex I have aimed at your sternum. I think it will reduce your bones to dust. You'll drown in your own blood before anyone can help you."

The wizard flicked his eyes down at Harry's wand, which was pointed squarely at his chest. Hermione knew the wizard must have been able to feel the potency of Harry's magic…she could sense it and she was standing behind him. The wizard gave an almost imperceptible nod, and Harry backed away slowly. There was a menacing force to Harry's movements, and not once did he take his eyes off the wizard. But he was making no attempt to stop them leaving.

Only once they were outside did Harry turn his back to the stranger. He looked to Hermione, and his eyes were full of fear this time.

"Run!"

And they did. Down the narrow, cobbled streets; past pretty gardens and modern shops, along the vast network of canals until they reached a secluded bridge, where they stopped, panting, to catch their breath.

"H-Harry," Hermione stammered. "Who was that?"

"I - I don't know," Harry replied, clutching at a stitch in his side. "But I don't want to hang around to find out. Someone knew we were here, Hermione. It isn't safe. Dobby!"

The elf popped into view, his eyes wide and cross. "Master Harry! Where you's been? Dobby lost sight of you."

"There was a man, a wizard," Harry panted. "He was watching us."

"Dobby knows! Dobby knows!" the elf cried desperately. "Dobby couldn't find Master Harry to warn him."

"How did you know?" asked Hermione.

"Dobby be feeling the bad magic. It was gathering at the museum. So Dobby stayed outside to guard. Then, Muggles be showing up in black cars. Dobby hears them talk about cameras, but Dobby not understand this. But they saw Master Harry and Miss Hermione. Then they come."

"Cameras?" asked Hermione, aghast. "Harry…you don't think he means CCTV, do you?"

"Could be," said Harry, scrunching his eyes as he considered it. "Dumbledore did say Voldemort has been making moves to subjugate the Muggle Government. They might have insiders within the police and security forces."

"Sweet Merlin," said Hermione. "That means we might be on a watchlist. We aren't safe out in public. Harry! They might be looking for us right now! If they have control of CCTV, they might have tracked us here!"

"Dobby! Get us back home! Right now!" Harry commanded

Dobby took a hand each of Harry and Hermione and whirled them away, just as heavy footsteps echoed along the underpass.

* * *

Harry didn't sleep that night. The truth was, he couldn't. It was a combination of things; firstly, the adrenaline of coming so close to an enemy, even though he'd been half convinced by Hermione that the odd wizard at the Ashmolean might have actually been an Auror, trying to protect them, however poor he was at concealing himself, was one thing. It was an exhilarating experience, to stand up so blatantly to an adult wizard…to have him concede to you. Harry was high on the sense of power that gave him.

But there was more to it than that. Harry knew it, but was reticent about facing it.

For, despite how uncomfortable the truth was, Harry had been stirred to mindless action by the potential threat to Hermione. It had driven him to become near feral. He had been staring at the ceiling for hours trying to unravel the meaning behind it. But he was mindlessly terrified of accepting the answer, even though part of him knew it already.

Why had he reacted so fiercely? He knew, in his heart, that he would have followed through with all his threats, had the wizard made any sort of move against Hermione. Harry would have ripped the poor bastard sinew from sinew if he'd raised his wand…and he would have felt zero remorse afterwards. That meant something…something new, something strong and important. Harry had felt it creeping on for the longest time, tried to ignore it, but the last month had magnified it beyond anything he'd ever known. He'd loved Hermione, as he loved all his friends.

But he'd never been so certain that he would kill so indiscriminately, as he was now…against any threat to Hermione's safety.

And hers alone.

The thought took his breath away. What did that mean? That he would take life to protect Hermione…that wasn't normal. Sure, he might kill to keep Ron or Neville safe if it came to it…but he knew he would go out of his way to _murder_ in order to protect Hermione. It was different by a matter of degrees. And Harry was certain he would do it.

But why?

He lay there in the dark and tried to understand his convoluted thoughts. And he was drawn constantly to two events of the day - the manner in which Hermione had hugged him from behind in the bedroom, and the way he'd taken advantage of the situation when they'd had their photo taken at the museum. In fact, he got up, flicked on the light and took the picture from his nightstand.

And he stared at it, for fully five minutes.

And Harry smiled the entire time. It wasn't just the image, either, that had hooked the goofy grin onto his face. It was the feeling that he remembered oh so well. Even this wasn't just from the photo…it was from the _original_. Harry recalled the flight on Buckbeak in their Third Year…the way he'd held Hermione so close. It was natural, he was trying to protect her. But why did he remember the way her hair smelled? Or how warm her body felt pressed so close to his? Her shouldn't be dwelling on things like that.

But he was. The photo had stirred all those things in him. He'd tried so hard to stay cogent, to guide Hermione around the museum. But he wasn't thinking about anything they'd been looking at. He was fixated on that part of her back that his chest had been pressed so firmly to. On that feeling of her hair against his cheek, the way she had fluttered as his skin brushed against her neck. That had ignited wild things in his own body.

He didn't understand any of it. He tried to be rational. Hermione was a girl, like Cho. That was the only point of similarity Harry had. Only, with Cho, it had felt alien, wrong and awkward in every way. But with Hermione, it was easy and natural. Harry loved being close to her. He only realised how much now, when she was so far away. And that was only by a room or so. She was closer than she would have normally been, but Harry found himself wishing she was closer. Maybe on his floor again.

Maybe even spooned up next to him in bed.

Harry shot up at that, his heart banging against his ribs. He clutched at his chest as the thought flooded him. He looked around the room, at the subtle twilight fluttering in from the open curtains, and fell back onto his pillows as the realisation washed over him. He wanted Hermione to be _that_ close? Really? He couldn't deny the truth of it. He felt it as certainly as he did the clothes against his skin.

And then, they stabbed him. Only lightly, but they pierced his pyjamas and threatened to draw blood. Harry winced slightly and looked up. Admonishing orange eyes looked back.

"You realise this is cotton? It's thin as hell," Harry explained to Crookshanks. "How about a cuddle, rather than you padding on me?"

Harry made an arc with his body and Crookshanks eased into it, purring as he curled up against Harry's chest.

"There. That's better," said Harry, petting Hermione's familiar. "You comfy? Good. How did you get in here anyway? Are you sure Hermione wont miss you?"

Crookshanks flicked his tail by way of answer, Harry accepted and slinked down into the covers next to the cat.

"No, I'm actually looking forward to having my own bed for once!"

Harry looked up as Hermione sleeked in through the door and crossed the room. She perched herself on the end of the bed, but Crookshanks made no effort to move to meet her.

"Well," said Hermione. "Looks like I've been replaced. I'm not sure how I feel about that."

Crookshanks made a throaty noise of contentment that even Harry understood. "Sorry. Looks like I make a warmer pillow."

"It would seem so," Hermione chuckled. "I don't mind. Really. It's actually nice to know someone else can look out for you through the night."

Harry was half-tempted to make a suggestion, decided it was inappropriate, then angled his intent elsewhere.

"Well, I'd better make use of it for the next fortnight. Once we are back at Hogwarts I wont get such preferential treatment."

"No, Crooksie is staying with me up at the castle," said Hermione. Her tone suddenly became serious. "Harry…are you okay…after today? That was all a bit close."

"Yeah…yeah it was," Harry agreed. He was thinking a thousand things, but didn't dare say any of them just now. "I don't think we should go out on our own again, though. It's too risky."

"I agree," said Hermione. "It's only a couple more weeks. I hope you wont be too bored here."

"Why would I be?" asked Harry, somewhat confused. Hermione smiled at that, which brightened Harry's mood. "In any case, I have all my homework to do. I'm determined to go back with it all done. You'll help me, yeah?"

"Of course," said Hermione, happily. "I'm only going to proofread, though. I'm not doing it for you."

"Course not," said Harry, knowing full well that Hermione looking over his work was akin to her actually doing it. But he felt an odd drive to get it done himself and surprise her…no, _impress_ her. It would be a thanks for all she'd done for him that Summer. Harry shifted nervously as he thought that. That was new, and ridiculously potent.

"Harry…I actually had a nice time today. Despite how it ended," said Hermione, shyly. "Thank you."

"You haven't got to thank me," said Harry, brightly. "I was going to thank _you_. I really enjoyed going around Oxford with you. It was great to learn about all the Colleges and history and stuff. It's a shame you didn't get to go to one of them. You would have been the star attraction."

Hermione blushed at that. "I don't know about _attraction_ …"

"I…I do," said Harry, nervously. "You'd have been an asset to whichever you'd picked."

"Thank you, Harry," said Hermione, blushing crazily.

"That said…I'm glad you didn't go to any of them."

"Why's that?"

"Because…I'd have never got to meet you, if you had," said Harry, quietly. "So…Oxford's loss is…is my gain."

Hermione blew out a shy breath. Harry grinned in the dark at it.

"I…I'm glad I didn't go, either," Hermione said. Her voice was impossibly little.

"Are you sleepy?" Harry asked.

"No. Why do you ask?"

"I had Dobby pilfer some supplies from Honeydukes," said Harry simply. Hermione gasped in shock. "If you don't turn me in, I'm thinking a midnight feast might be fun."

Hermione laughed. "Harry…you're incorrigible."

"Well, I'm going to be a Prefect in a fortnight," Harry pointed out, fairly. "I need to get all my rule-breaking done now."

"Oh, Harry, I feel you will break more rules this year than ever before," said Hermione. "But at least I can't give you detention for these ones. So long as you have some Liquorice Wands. They are my favourites."

"I know," said Harry. "I had Dobby stock up on them."

"How do you know?" asked Hermione suspiciously.

"I'm not as unobservant as you think," said Harry. "Now, how about you grab us some coffee and we'll make a night of it?"

Hermione tutted and huffed, then tutted some more, before hurrying off with a cute little smile. Harry grinned as she left. He hoped Hermione would pick the biggest mugs for their drinks…he quite liked the idea of spending all night simply chatting to her. Sleep could just wait.

* * *

The final two weeks of Summer passed without incident. Harry and Hermione were pretty much inseparable, to the point that Hermione actually ended up watching more football matches with her father than she ever had before. The reason being that Harry and David had bonded over their love of the sport, to the point that David had even made Harry a fan of his own favourite team, Liverpool FC. Every time there was a televised game, Harry and David ensconced themselves around the television and watched with a passionate fervour, complete with swear words and abuse of the referees, that Hermione felt her father had been waiting years to find someone to share such moments with.

And she was delighted that Harry was the person who had filled this void.

So Hermione sat and watched with them, getting as caught up in the sport as her two favourite men were, in spite of herself. She had never really cared for sport, but seeing the passion it stirred in Harry made her attached to it by proxy. Soon she was cursing the linesman for poor offside calls, abusing the ref for not giving blatant penalties, and even hugging Harry in joy as Liverpool scored a hat-full of goals.

This was, by far, the biggest benefit.

For being physically close to Harry was now becoming something of an addiction for Hermione. She valued her days in terms of only how many times she could get a hug or sneak a hold of Harry's hand. A day without any sort of physical contact was a complete waste of hours, as far as Hermione was concerned. And as the return to Hogwarts drew ever nearer, she began to crave attention, as though stocking up for hibernation.

For she felt sure things would change back at school. It was all very well to hug and hand-hold where no-one could see, but Hermione was sure it wouldn't be so easy amongst all the students. Tongues would wag, whispers would fly, and then the awkward questions would be asked.

Questions neither Hermione nor Harry seemed to have the courage to address.

For they both knew something had changed between them. Hermione knew it, and she felt certain Harry knew it, too. But neither seemed to know how to confront it. They had just started hugging and holding hands, generally touching more often than friends did, without either knowing how it had started, or how to start discussing what it meant. They just _did_. And they were both fine with it. Neither wanted it to stop, or to risk losing it by looking it in the face.

So they just carried on like nothing was new. But it was _very_ new. Of the last fifteen nights Harry stayed at Hermione's house, she slept in his room seven times. Always on the floor, but as close as she could possibly be. And they stayed up till stupid-o'clock, just talking. Talking about nothing. And everything. Hermione loved every second, hating the moment when they decided they'd better get some sleep, whichever one of them reticently suggested it.

Hermione knew she'd miss it crazily when they were back at school.

And then, just like that, the day was upon them. September the First dawned a little dull, in comparison to the Summer-long heatwave. Hermione felt it was fitting, and moped about all morning as they prepared themselves for the journey to London. For the first time, she didn't want to return to school. She wanted to stay home with Harry, enjoy more of the solo time they'd had for the past two months. Study was an irritant, other students a prospect of annoyance. Her world had become very small, just her and Harry in fact, and she loved it that way. She didn't want to lose it.

Catrin seemed to understand. She smiled as she poured a third cup of tea, watching as Hermione huffed about the kitchen.

"Have you got everything, honey?" Catrin asked.

"Yes, I think so," said Hermione, crossly. "I just don't want to leave anything behind."

"Some things you cant take with you," said Catrin, shrewdly. "Such as… _privacy_ , maybe?"

Hermione shot around to her mother. "What?"

"Oh, come on, Min," said Catrin, risking a nickname she'd not used since Hermione was a child. Hermione had never been able to say her full name, so had called herself 'Hu-minny-ione' when she was young. ' _Min_ ' had just stuck after that. "I know what this is about."

"Which is?" asked Hermione.

"You don't want to go back to sharing Harry with anyone," said Catrin, easily. "I can see it in your face."

Hermione spat out a frustrated breath. When it came to Harry, her mother had decoded all her languages about him. It was pointless to deny them.

"No…no I don't," said Hermione. "I've kept him safe for six weeks…who knows what's going to happen now."

"This isn't about keeping Harry safe…and you know it."

"No, it isn't," Hermione conceded. "But he doesn't know that. And I can't give any of it up. And I _really_ don't want to."

Catrin smiled at her daughter. "Look, it isn't my place to say…but there's an easy way to keep Harry close. You just need some courage."

"Mum! Keep your voice down!" Hermione hissed, lowly. "He might hear!"

"And why should you care?" Catrin replied, simply. "It might be easier. You've both been skirting around each other for weeks. I should mind, really, as your mother. But Harry's such a lovely boy. He's helped me with cooking meals, done chores around the garden with a whistle and a song…and your father simply _adores_ him. I never thought I'd ever see it…but your Dad is actually _hoping_ you tell him Harry has become your boyfriend."

"Mum… _really_?" Hermione asked, blushing crazily with her cautious words.

"Absolutely," Catrin replied. "And you know your Dad rarely likes anyone. He's already bought Harry's Christmas present - tickets to watch Liverpool at Anfield on Boxing Day. He is so excited, I've never seen the like. He'd be even more euphoric if Harry is your boyfriend by the time they go."

Hermione's heart near-on exploded at that. She had to sit down, before she fell down. She forgot whatever it was she was supposed to be doing, and simply grinned like a loon at the ideas flooding through her mind. Then she frowned.

"And what if Harry doesn't want to?" she asked.

"What if Harry doesn't want to do what?"

Harry, himself, asked the question as he entered the kitchen. He gave Hermione a pointed, knowing look, as he accepted a plate of toast and bacon that Catrin placed in front of him.

"Oh…well…Mum and I were just talking…Christmas presents, you know…secret stuff," said Hermione, shiftily.

"Ah, okay," Harry grinned. "I look forward to it… _Min."_

Hermione froze. It was quite obvious Harry had been listening for far longer than he was letting on. He continued to smirk at her as he ate. Hermione simply forked her own eggs and avoided his gaze, wondering just how much Harry had heard. She sat in this awkward state until her father entered and prompted them to fetch their cases.

It was a new experience for Hermione, for rather than the usual ten-minute haul of her over-stocked case, Dobby simply floated both her and Harry's trunks down the stairs and into the car. After a quick charm to avoid detection, David drove off and headed down the M4 towards London.

Hermione was focused on Harry. He was on a total war-footing. He wasn't even pretending about it. His wand was in his hand, his magic flowing around the back seat like a gentle tide. It didn't feel like much, but Hermione knew it would become a deadly torrent at the first sign of trouble. And, as her heart spoke quietly to her, that torrent would become a hurricane if that trouble threatened _her_.

She couldn't get her head around that as the car sped on.

But it made her feel unspeakably safe. She sat in utter comfort, secure in the knowledge that, if any Death Eaters happened upon them, she had nothing to worry about. Harry would protect her. She smiled at him, but he was focused only on the passing landscape and the dangers it might hold. She allowed him that, confident that some part of him would have felt her intent. After all, she would have him all to herself soon enough.

Then she became taut, worried for an altogether different reason.

Ron.

He had not replied to their last letter, despite their having sent it three weeks ago. Both she and Harry were fairly convinced of the obvious reason - Dumbledore had gone to The Burrow to personally inform Ron that he'd been stripped of his Prefectship. Aside from the personal shame of this, there were also tuition breaks that his parents would now have to cover. It paid to excel at Hogwarts, which was why successive Weasleys had been Head Students and Quidditch Captains.

But now Ron's way would have to be fully paid. And, as both Harry and Hermione accepted, Ron would not likely look favourably on Harry, as soon as it became clear that he'd replaced him as Prefect. They were both prepared for a backlash but, as they approached Kings Cross, Hermione felt she'd much rather be _in_ a battle, rather than waiting on the fringes for it to happen.

But, happen it did.

On the platform of nine and three-quarters as it turned out. Harry and Hermione had barely crossed the barrier when they were accosted by Ron. He had clearly been waiting for them.

"It's true then, is it?" he thundered. "You've taken my job as Prefect?"

"I've not _taken_ anything," said Harry. "Dumbledore took it off you, and offered it to me."

"And you just took it?" Ron cried. "Didn't stand up for me, or anything?"

"Well, I…no…I suppose I didn't," said Harry. "I wont lie…I fancied the job."

"Or fancied the _power!"_ Ron yelled, angrily. "I knew you should have been in Slytherin! Oof!"

He stopped talking after that, for Neville Longbottom had come up and punched him right in the gut. Ron doubled up, looked up furiously, then Neville slugged him hard in the mouth. Ron fell to the platform floor as a crowd gathered round to watch the fight. But Neville was in no mood to be on display.

"Fuck off, all of you," he hissed dangerously. "You wont like me angry."

"Especially _you,_ Ginge," said a harsh female voice behind him.

Harry looked up to see the dark-haired girl from that day on Diagon Alley. She was standing protectively close to Neville, a whitewood wand thrumming with power in her hand. It was pointed at Ginny Weasley's heart, and she was looking at her with such loathing that a lesser girl might have been reduced to tears. Ginny made half a move for her own wand, but then she suddenly doubled up, screaming in agony.

For another girl, clad in a deep hood, had appeared at Neville's other side. She was directing a stream of intense psychic energy at Ginny. Harry could feel its power a full twelve-feet away…and was immensely glad he wasn't on the end of it. Ginny had crumpled to the floor…and her pained screeches had reduced the normally raucous train platform to a state of utter silence.

"Celesca Roth! Cease that this instant!"

A booming female voice exploded along the platform. Ginny's cries fell to a whimper as the psychic assault diminished, and the girl in the hood fell to her knees in guilty reticence. She bowed her head as if bracing to be hit. But the woman who had spoken had now arrived at the scene, knealing at Celesca's side and she spoke quietly to her. When she rose, she commanded the sort of quiet reverence only Severus Snape had ever conjured from a group of children.

"You!" she commanded at Ginny. "You were intending to harm this boy."

It was a statement, not a question. Harry bristled next to Hermione. He'd briefly met the girl, Celesca. She didn't seem the type to make trouble, but she could see the future. She must have foreseen Ginny's intent…and used her power to stop her. Harry felt a surge of affection for the girl. He would have to get to know her better. If Ginny was trying to hurt Neville…Harry would make the bitch sorry for that.

"I wasn't," Ginny protested.

"You lie," said the woman. "I know it."

"Professor Roth," said Professor McGonagall, who had appeared suddenly. "What seems to be the problem?"

"This girl was about to curse the boy near Harry Potter," said Professor Roth. "My daughter had to step in and stop her. I suggest you segregate the girl…before my daughter hospitalises her."

"Very well," said Professor McGonagall. Hermione was stunned that the Headmistress had no doubt about the new Professor's claim. "Miss Weasley - do not board the train until I give you permission. Miss Granger…we will speak about the issue you raised once we have left London."

"Thank you," said Hermione. When Harry sent her a querying look she simply replied - "Later."

McGonagall led Ginny away. Then, the new Professor came up close to Harry. She was a tall, extremely beautiful woman. She had jet black hair to her waist, green eyes and a huge bust. Harry knew instantly he'd struggle to concentrate in her class, but that all the boys would be in the same sinking boat. He'd not paid much attention when Dumbledore had taken them to her house to find out about Slughorn, but now he was struggling to look anywhere but her chest.

Then her daughter came up on her shoulder. She was pulling her hood tight over her head and Harry fought with the fleeting fear that she could sense him ogling her mother. That, along with an odd angry frown from Hermione, was enough to dispel his feral thoughts.

"Hello, Mister Potter," said the Professor. "How are you?"

"Very well, Harriet-Helena…sorry, _Professor_ Roth," said Harry. "We didn't mean to make trouble with the Weasleys."

"From what Albus tells me, trouble with _that_ family may come thick and fast," said Professor Roth.

"Are you okay, Celesca?" Harry asked. "You said using your gift hurts a lot."

Celesca didn't reply, but simply retreated behind her mother.

"Celesca is fine," Professor Roth replied. "Though she and I will have to have a chat about the way she uses her powers around others."

"I'm sure she wouldn't have hurt Ginny without good reason," said Harry. Hermione swore she could see a small smile emerge from beneath Celesca's deep silver hood. She didn't like it one bit. She scowled at the girl until her grin went away, though she wasn't sure if she'd caused it.

"Come on, Harry," said Hermione, tugging on his jacket. "We'd better get on the train."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "See you both at school."

Harry and Hermione fell into line behind Neville, who turned to them as they waited to board.

"Enola's great, isn't she?" Neville grinned. "Giving Ginny grief like that…I'm so hot for her."

He looked adoringly over at the dark haired girl at the end of the queue, stood next to hooded Celesca, who had hurried to her side.

"I take it you've kept in touch?" said Hermione.

"Written pretty much every other day," said Neville, somewhat smugly. "She seems to actually _like_ me. I'm hoping I can make her my girlfriend before the first Hogsmeade weekend. How did Harry do it with you?"

"Excuse me?" asked Hermione, startled.

"You know…go from friends to, well… _more than friends_."

"What makes you think we are -"

"Prefects to the Front Carriages!" said the Head Girl, strolling past. "No lollygagging!"

"After you," said Harry, smirking. "Fancy showing me the way, Min?"

Hermione sighed deeply. This was going to be a long trip.


	8. Minerva's Offer

Harry hurried as quickly as he could along the Hogwarts Express corridor, urged on by Hermione, who was perpetually prodding him in the back. He didn't know why she was in such a hurry, and was starting to get cross with her incessant prompting. He was about to turn around and tell her off, when she suddenly guided him into an empty compartment in the carriage closest to the gleaming scarlet steam engine, smoke from which was seeping under the door at the far end.

"In here, Harry," said Hermione, in her business-like fashion. Harry bristled as if he was in trouble. Hermione turned and drew her wand, aiming it at the door. " _Colloportus!"_ she cried, locking the compartment tight.

"Hermione…what are you doing?" Harry queried. "If you're worried about Ron, don't be. I think Neville's got our backs on that front."

"I'm not worried about Ron," said Hermione, somewhat breathlessly. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and stood with one hand on her hip. "Though if he's _already_ annoyed, it might be easier to get all his irritations out in one go."

Hermione took a step closer to Harry and smoothed down the top she was wearing. It drew Harry's attention to her figure, and he felt his heart leap into his throat. Hermione grinned wickedly at his change in demeanour. Had she done that on _purpose_? Harry gulped hard as he tried to process that.

"I don't understand," Harry mumbled. He was forgetting he had a whole vocabulary at his disposal, if he could just remember how to use it.

"I think you do," said Hermione, a small smile creeping into her eyes. She took another step. "You're really bad at pretending."

"P-pretending what?"

Hermione stepped closer still. Harry could see her pupils dilating she was so close now. Over Hermione's shoulder, Harry could see Susan Bones fruitlessly trying to open the compartment door. She caught his eye, then her face cracked into a mischievous grin…and she called excitedly to someone out of sight down the train.

"Neville just said he thinks I'm your girlfriend," said Hermione breathlessly. "And I heard Malfoy make some snide remark that he's going to have to pay up on a bet to Goyle that you were going to shag Finch-Fletchley this year, just because of how we looked together on the platform.

"Everyone's going to carry on seeing this thing between us…like they have for the last few years…something that I think we've both been denying for ages. And I don't want to keep saying the same old thing to the questions…I don't _want_ to keep denying it. If people are going to gossip about us, I want them to at least have it right. Which I think they already have. I think we may be the last ones to know."

"You…you d-do?" Harry stuttered.

"I've been thinking about nothing else for weeks, myself. I've loved you being with just me this Summer, I have no intention of giving up that intimacy back at school. I've decided. I haven't stopped looking at that photo we had taken in Oxford. We look so _good_ together…because we _are_. I really like you, Harry…and it's not just as friends anymore. It hasn't been for the longest time."

Harry's mouth had gone stupidly dry. Hermione's close proximity was forcing him to take steps back in the small compartment. A million thoughts were chasing each other around his head, but in the end Harry settled on,

"Why didn't you say anything before?"

"I've been trying," Hermione replied. "But the words just got sort of, _stuck…_ all the time. But I'm not having another year like last year, watching you chase Cho around the castle with your tongue hanging out when she totally didn't deserve you to. I'm not sharing you with that Celesca girl, either. I'm sure she likes you. I'm not going to share you with anyone."

Harry suddenly relaxed. He grinned at Hermione. There was something unbearably cute about her being jealous. And over _him_ , no less. That was a thousand sorts of weird. But his heart was racing a hundred miles an hour. All his cautious musings about the changing nature of his feelings for Hermione had erupted in one go and bunched up, wedging themselves high in his chest. Harry doubted, disbelieved, felt himself unworthy of the affection Hermione was offering him…but he couldn't find the way to explain that to her. He could only manage one, simple sentence.

"I…I don't want to be shared."

And, just like that, Hermione closed the gap between them and captured his mouth with her own. Harry responded in kind, lifting Hermione off her feet momentarily, as her body pressed up to his, and he grabbed her tight to him. She was soft, and warm, and she tasted of the banana lolly she'd been sucking on the car journey to London. Harry tried to make his mind not hitch on the idea of Hermione _sucking_ anything, but movement below his belt betrayed his failure at that. Hermione either didn't feel, or didn't care, deepening the kiss and thrusting Harry backwards until he banged his head on the window.

They broke apart, breathless and laughing, but Hermione immediately snatched her arms around Harry's waist with surprising force, drawing him impossibly close. His arms snaked up to encircle her shoulders, holding her so tight he might have been trying to fuse them together. Hermione fit so neatly into his chest, the crown of her head just under his chin, as though she'd been designed to fold in there. This felt so right, so natural and easy. Harry wondered that he'd taken so long to try it.

But he'd tried it now, knew its perfection immediately, and he forgave himself for his previous blindness in an instant. Hermione hummed into Harry's chest, as much a purr as Crookshanks had ever managed. Harry looked to the bandy cat, still in his carry cage, and swore he received a nod of approval in return. Behind Crookshanks, a small crowd had gathered in the corridor to watch the display. Several gave thumbs up as soon as they recognised that Harry had noticed them, with a few banging the glass and cater-walling through the locked door.

Amongst the crowd was Ginny Weasley, scowling furiously, and she stomped off angrily, undoubtedly to tell her brother the good news.

But Harry found he didn't care one bit.

"I'm sorry to tell you this, Hermione, but I think we're going to be the subject of hot gossip before term even starts!" said Harry, quasi-apologetically, as more faces piled in to peer through the glass of the compartment window.

Hermione merely huffed in response. "I don't give a toss about _that_. Let them talk. I hope all the girls are jealous as hell of me."

"I doubt they will be," said Harry. "I've not suddenly become fanciable."

"Oh, Harry, you were always fanciable," said Hermione, taking Harry quite by surprise. "Escaping and publicly outing Voldemort will only have intensified that, by ten-fold probably. I'll be fighting off competitors from now till Christmas."

"Sorry," Harry offered guiltily.

"Pah! I'd not have it any other way. To be _with you…_ just to _have_ to fend off other girls...to be _able_ to…that's exactly where I want to be," said Hermione, her voice obscenely content, and sexily militant. "Let the silly bitches come. But I _am_ sorry for something…I could have done this _weeks_ ago. I _should_ have. I'm such an idiot."

"I honestly don't think you are capable of idiocy," said Harry, supportively.

"You're sweet, but I could have confessed to you ages ago, at least given you the option to think about," said Hermione. "We could have been enjoying this for the longest time already. It's not like me to keep my mouth shut. I should have said something."

"But so could have I," Harry pointed out. "I've been denying it myself. Too locked up in thinking I should be all morose to accept what was happening between us. Maybe it was being at your house…it might have not been appropriate. That's my excuse, anyway."

"Maybe…but, Harry…what _is_ happening between us? And don't be all coy and vague, like you normally are. Tell me what _you_ want. Be selfish for once. I give you permission."

"Well, I notice you have an open position for a boyfriend," said Harry, laughing at himself, laughing at how well Hermione knew him and his flaws. "I'm rather hoping you'll consider my application. Unless this is a just a new fad of yours…going around kissing any boys you fancy!"

Hermione giggled. "No, it's no fad. And - for the record - the only boy I fancy is _you_. And I'm rather hoping I can get a few more of those toe-curling kisses, too. I knew I was right last year…you are _awesome_ at it. Bloody Cho…she _should_ have been cheered up by having _you_ kiss her. Ron got that right. Well, her loss is my gain. Lucky me!"

"About Ron…"

"If he has a problem with us, we're done with him," said Hermione decisively. She sat down and patted the seat next to her. Harry didn't need a second invitation and practically leapt down beside her. "That's my first command as your girlfriend. It may not be the last. Oh wow…am I _really_ your girlfriend? That sounds so _weird_! Good weird, but still weird."

"Well, I like the sound of it…if you do?" Harry asked tentatively.

"No, I don't like it…I _love_ it!"

Harry grinned like a loon, but it didn't last long. For Hermione's lips were suddenly on his own again. The now-thronging crowd in the corridor cat-called and whooped and swooned, drumming on the glass just as the train began to move off with a loud _toot_ from the engine. Hermione stuck her middle finger up at all of them, but Harry ignored it all and melted into the kiss. He had just discovered his new favourite thing.

Now _this_ was a fine way to spend a train ride…the best he'd ever found.

* * *

By the time the Hogwarts Express pulled in at Hogsmeade Station, there wasn't one single student or teacher on board who wasn't aware of the momentous event that had taken place in the Prefects Carriage between Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. The only issue concerned the details. How long had they been going out? How far had they gone? Was it true that Hermione was pregnant, because she and Harry were wearing matching rings? Had he simply _done the right thing_ by her? Whispers promised to follow the new couple everywhere for the next few weeks.

Hermione was totally unabashed by the whole thing, leaving with elegant dignity when Professor McGonagall had come calling, just as the train was somewhere near Leeds. Harry had felt something bordering devastation at her departure, but had little time to wallow in it as Justin Finch-Fletchley, Susan Bones, Terry Boot and Mandy Brocklehurst led a ten-strong team who stormed his carriage demanding answers to stir the gossip. Harry wasn't sure how much he was supposed to disclose - as Hermione hadn't told him what was acceptable to speak about - so he just smiled and grinned and thought it would be far more fun to let people make up their own version of events.

When the time came to leave the train, Harry and Hermione did so hand-in-hand, deciding it was pointless to deny the rumours when out in public. Hermione held Crookshanks under one arm, but he wriggled free as soon as Hedwig had soared away from Harry. The Kneazel trotted alongside Hermione, his bottle-brush tail high and on alert. He seemed to be trying to guard his mistress against the gossiping tongues wagging all around.

But it was a pointless exercise. For _everyone_ was talking about Harry and Hermione. No Shield Charm on Earth could have deflected the barrage of questions and comments hurled their way, so poor Crookshanks was way out of his depth. Harry looked to Hermione, attempting to gauge her reaction. She was bearing it all very cheerily, blushing at some of the more crude suggestions regarding the length of Harry's wand, but generally she walked on with her head held high, a wide grin on her face and her hand firmly gripped in Harry's, even swinging it exaggeratedly as if to emphasise the point.

If Harry hadn't known better, he would have sworn that Hermione was _enjoying_ all of this.

Just then, they reached the carriages and Hermione gasped aloud.

"Oh, sweet _Merlin!_ Aren't they _hideous!?_ " she hissed.

"Eh?" asked Harry. Then he cottoned on. This was the first time Hermione had actually _seen_ the Thestrals. She'd been there…when Sirius died. She could see the Death Beasts now. Harry felt a customary pang as Sirius' memory flooded him, but it passed as Hermione squeezed his hand in immediate understanding. Harry smirked at her. "No…they aren't the prettiest, are they? Hop in, though."

"Why thank you," Hermione grinned, as Harry helped her into the carriage.

"Room for a couple more?" asked a voice behind them.

"Absolutely," said Harry. "Jump in, Nev."

"You sure?" Neville quirked. "Don't want to disturb any last minute snogging sessions. You only had eight hours of it from London, if the rumours from the train are anything to go by."

"Sod off, Longbottom," Harry smirked. "Just get in."

"That is the _cutest_ cat! Is he yours?"

Harry turned to see Enola, Neville's new friend, standing close behind him. Celesca, her hood pulled completely over her face, was a few paces back again.

"No, he's my…my _girlfriends',"_ said Harry. It felt bizarre to voice aloud Hermione's new role in his life, but it made his pulse speed crazily all through him. He grinned in spite of himself at the tickly sensation it gave him. He didn't think that would ever get old. Hermione Granger was his _girlfriend_ …that was the most magical thought Harry Potter had ever had, in six years at the most premier school of magic in Europe.

"Aww, well, he's _adorable,"_ said Enola. "Do you think he'll sit on my lap for the trip?"

"I really couldn't say," said Harry. He looked at Crookshanks, sniffing cautiously at Enola's boots. Then he rubbed himself against them. "But that's generally a good sign. If he lets you pick him up, you're in!"

Enola chanced her arm. Crookshanks offered no resistance, purring loudly as he snuggled into Enola's shoulder. Harry laughed.

"He's a good judge of character," said Harry. "If he likes you, I probably will, too. Hop up into the carriage."

Neville did the honours as footman for both Enola and Celesca. Harry, mindful of Hermione's jealously, thought it best to keep his distance from the hooded girl. He clambered up into the carriage last, clicking the door shut just as the Thestral broke into a stride.

"So," said Neville. "Ron pretty much hates you. Just so you know."

"I could have guessed that," said Harry. "Just for the Prefect thing?"

"Well, it might have been just for the Prefect thing, then today happened," said Neville, grinning mischievously. "But you know he's always had this weird thing for Hermione. Now you've started going out with her, he might actually hate your guts."

"Screw him," said Harry. "Hermione chose _me_. Don't ask me why. I'm just blessed that she did."

"Harry…" said Hermione, shyly.

"What? It's true," said Harry stoutly. "And I'll tell anyone who asks. In this dynamic, it's definitely _me_ that's punching above my weight. You're incredible, Hermione…I wont have anyone thinking otherwise. Including _you_. As for Ron…how did he know that I'd been made a Prefect, anyway?"

"I told him," said Neville simply. "He was telling Seamus that you've been ignoring him all Summer. Giving you a load of grief. So I put him straight, without giving anything away. So he started on me. We were having a row when you appeared on the platform. I decided to give him a smack for walking away from me like a pussy. "

"It was a hell of a one-two," said Harry, admiringly. "I bet you aren't in his good books, either."

"I don't really care about that," said Neville. "I've never really gotten on with Ron. He takes the piss out of me, sort of projects his deep insecurities on to me to cover up his own failings. He was trying to say I'd only scraped into Sixth Year, but my results were way better than his. He didn't like that. I don't know why you bother with him, Harry, I really don't. He just drags you down."

"Here, here," said Hermione, tipping an imaginary glass at Neville. "That all stops this year."

Neville grinned at that. "The guidance of a good woman, eh Harry?"

"If that's what it takes," said Harry, squeezing Hermione's arm. She smiled at him in the gathering dusk. "Following her lead hasn't steered me wrong yet."

"True," said Neville. "But, Hermione, please…stay out of Harry's Quidditch. Without him, we have hardly any chance of winning. Especially with Ron as Captain…I saw him flaunting his badge earlier. He'll hardly want to pick Harry as it is."

"Fine", Hermione huffed. "But if I see _one_ Wonky Faint…"

"I promise, no dangerous flying," said Harry, stifling a chuckle. "Unless it will impress you."

"Breaking your neck isn't impressive," said Hermione. "However…beating _Slytherin…_ and especially that greasy twat, Malfoy… _is_ impressive. So, when that match comes up….you _will_ win Harry…you'll win for me."

Harry grinned madly. He thought he'd never heard a more motivational speech in his whole life.

* * *

The Great Hall was resplendent as they entered. After six years, Harry never failed to be overwhelmed by the first night back. The place just dripped with magic and it was like waking up after a long Muggle sleep. The thousand candles burned bright over the four long house tables, illuminating the hundreds of black pointed hats of the already amassed students.

And most of those heads snapped around as Harry and Hermione entered, as if to see the truth of the explosive rumour for themselves.

Harry tried not to laugh as a hear-a-pindrop silence fell over the hall. It was soon replaced, however, by an eruption of hushed whispers, sounding like a thousand hissing wildfires around the cavernous space. Harry looked at Hermione, who seemed to be struggling to hold back giggles herself. In response to their grand entrance she simply took Harry's hand and began to march along the Hall, swinging their conjoined digits in the most over-stated way imaginable.

"Well, if anyone was in any doubt, that dispels _that_!" Neville laughed, dropping onto the bench opposite them. Harry and Hermione were, of course, side-by-side, ridiculously close. Neville leaned in before the spaces next to them were taken up. "Harry…are we still on to meet later?"

Harry looked around cautiously. "Maybe. Or we might leave it till the morning. Do you still have your DA coin?"

"It's in my trunk," said Neville.

"Get it out. I'll use it to contact you."

"Any hint what this is about?"

"No…it might put you off the feast," said Harry, a little darkly. "Where's your little friend gone, anyway?"

"Oh, well, she has to be Sorted, doesn't she?" said Neville. "Oh, I bloody _hope_ she gets into Gryffindor. I don't see her as a Slytherin, do you?"

"Oh, I don't know," Harry teased. "The way she handled Ginny Weasley earlier…that was pretty Slytherin. In a good way, mind."

"Shut up, Harry," said Neville, who had gone a little pale.

Harry went to laugh, but Hermione kicked him under the table. He scowled at her for all of two seconds, till she smiled sweetly at him, and Harry just wanted to kiss her again. Maybe later, for the Sorting had suddenly started. Harry marvelled at just how _little_ the First Years looked…and how scared. He wondered blithely how many of them had been told tales of having to wrestle trolls at the Sorting.

The memory caused him to flick his eyes at Ron, who was sat about as far away along the Gryffindor table as he could be. He was staring resolutely ahead, though Harry couldn't shake the idea that Ron knew he was looking at him. Harry sighed in resignation. He and Hermione were of one mind on this. They were sick and tired of pussy-footing around Ron, of pandering to his moods. If he wanted to be pissed, Harry was happy to let him be.

For Harry had made Hermione his girlfriend today…and everything else was rendered comically insignificant by comparison.

Harry sat smugly as he thought that. He looked at Hermione on his left, watching as the Sorting proceeded. She was memorising the names and faces of any First Years being Sorted in to Gryffindor. Harry knew he should be doing the same, but he couldn't drag his mind to it. Hermione, so focused and concentrated, was the entirety of his world at that point. He had no room for anything else.

"Hey," Harry whispered, leaning in close. "Do you know something?"

"Hmm," Hermione replied absently, as _Fisher, Carol_ became a Gryffindor.

"You're beautiful when you're concentrating. Do you know that?"

Hermione snapped her head around at that, beaming broadly. Without pretence, she arced in and kissed Harry full on the mouth, in front of everyone. There were several gasps of surprise, and a few _aww's_ from the girls on the table. That worked. Harry made a mental note of it, as Hermione went back to watching the Sorting.

"Smooth, Potter, smooth," Neville whispered with a wink from across the table.

"Write it down, Nev," said Harry, nodding pointedly as _Hart, Enola_ became a Sixth Year Gryffindor. The black-haired stunner sauntered over and eased herself down next to Neville.

"Hi," she offered breathlessly. "I hope this seat isn't taken?"

"I kept it open, just on the off chance," said Neville.

"Thanks," said Enola. "I do hope Cesc gets in here, too."

But she didn't, as the final student to be Sorted - _Roth, Celesca_ \- became a Ravenclaw.

"Oh dear," said Enola, wringing her hands anxiously. "I hope Cesc will be okay. She's not great with new people."

Harry could see that right away, as Celesca, still with her hood pulled down, perched herself on the very end of the Ravenclaw table, as far away from the nearest person as she could get.

"Will she be alright?" asked Neville.

"I hope so," said Enola, bracingly. "We were pretty sure we'd be separated. I'll go and see her later. She's used to being on her own, is Cesc. Poor love. Just so long as no-one bothers her, she should be alright."

Harry had an idea just then. He knew he was probably breaking several hundred years of tradition, but he got up and crossed the Hall. In the silence which followed the end of the Sorting, a thousand faces watched him as he crossed the room. But Harry didn't head for Celesca, stopping instead near another girl who was being shunned by the Ravenclaw table.

"Hello, Luna," said Harry, warmly.

"Hi, Harry," said Luna brightly, looking as startled as ever, which was nothing compared to the surprise her house-mates were displaying, over the fact that Harry Potter was speaking to Luna Lovegood in person.

"Luna, I need you to do me a favour," said Harry quietly, so only Luna could hear. "But I need to tell you a secret so you can do it."

"Okay, I can keep a secret," said Luna.

"I know you can," Harry smiled. "Do you see that new Sixth Year girl who's just joined your House?"

"Yes."

"Well, she's very special and has some extraordinary gifts," said Harry. "But they are going to make people think she's a bit aloof and odd. But she's not. I've met her and she seems really nice. Do me a favour, and try to talk to her, get to know her. She's going to need a friend in your House…because the only people she knows at the school are in Gryffindor. I know you know what it's like…to be alone here."

"I'll try, Harry," Luna whispered. "I do know what it's like. But what if she wont talk to me? Not many people do, you see."

"Leave that to me," said Harry, angry at the way Luna was so often treated. He glowered at members of Ravenclaw House as he rose from Luna and headed to the end of the table. Celesca didn't move, but Harry couldn't shift the sensation that she knew he was there next to her. She was an unaccountably fascinating girl to be around.

"You don't have to speak," said Harry, softly. "But there's a girl in your house, Luna Lovegood, and she's one of the best girls you could ever meet. She's lovely and loyal and you'd not go far wrong by trying to be friends with her. I've asked her to try and make friends with you…let her. You wont regret it."

Harry stood, and made to go. But then, quite to Harry's surprise, Celesca _spoke_.

"Thank you. You're very kind."

"It's nothing," said Harry. "But both Luna and I know what it's like to be alone. Don't…if you don't have to be. There are friends here for you, even if you have to conceal yourself from everyone else."

"I'd like a friend," said Celesca, her voice soft and lyrical. "Thank you, Harry Potter. I hope…I hope we can be friends, too. Even if your girlfriend doesn't like me."

Harry tried not to grin too much at that. The idea of Hermione as his girlfriend was still making him giddy.

"Don't worry, I'll talk her round," said Harry. "Enjoy the feast."

Then Harry moved off. He saw Luna get up from her place and drop down next to Celesca, which pleased him. He, himself, slid back next to Hermione, who was smiling at him so radiantly he felt he should look away.

"That was a lovely thing to do," Hermione whispered. "I'm proud of you."

Harry blushed under her gaze. "It was only the sort of thing you'd have done."

"Exactly," said Hermione. "I'm proud that you're learning from me already!"

Harry laughed at that. Hermione gave him an affectionate peck, then Dumbledore rose to address the Hall.

"Welcome, Students!" the Headmaster began. "Another year is upon us. However, I know I need not impress upon you the serious nature of our world at present. For that reason I must absolutely emphasise that no student is to risk leaving the grounds, for any reason, apart from on designated Village Visit weekends. Which includes use of the mythical hidden passages of the school. And student caught doing so risks meeting a very violent death."

Dumbledore's eyes flicked at Harry, who bowed his head guiltily, as several students laughed nearby, unsure whether the Headmaster was joking or not.

"The Forbidden Forest is, as usual, out of bounds," Dumbledore continued. "And, as usual, I have the honour of introducing this years' Defence Against The Dark Arts Professor - Mrs Harriet-Helena Roth. Welcome, Professor Roth."

Harry noted there was warmer than normal applause for the oft-doomed new Professor, notably from the older boys in the audience. Harry genuinely hoped this one would break the curse - she was far too fit to meet a horrible end on account of the troubled teaching position.

"I am also pleased to announce our new Head Boy and Girl," Dumbledore went on. "The Student Body this year will be led by Ravenclaw House, so it gives me great pleasure to present Mr Roger Davies and Miss Cho Chang as the Head Boy and Girl."

There was a smattering of light applause from everyone except the Ravenclaw table, who were positively raucous in their eruption. Harry noticed Hermione wasn't one of the Gryffindors who politely put their hands together.

"Great. Just great," Hermione huffed, as Dumbledore gave the invitation to eat.

"Problem?" asked Harry, watching as the tables groaned under the weight of food which had suddenly appeared on them. He hoped that Hermione hadn't already forgotten all that Dobby had educated her on, regarding the House-Elves of Hogwarts.

"Well, Cho and I don't exactly have the best of relationships, do we?" said Hermione, crossly. "Now we're going to have to attend all the Student Council and Faculty meetings with her, carry out her instructions for the Student Events Programme exactly as she dictates. She's bound to give us all the crappiest things to do."

"It's not just her," Harry pointed out. "Davies will have some say in it."

"Oh, don't be silly, Harry!" Hermione laughed. "Cho will flash her long lashes at Roger and he'll be licking out of her lap. Quite literally, I imagine. He'll only be interested in organising Quidditch, anyway."

"He might not be that bad," said Harry. "He might have Higher Education in mind, and he'll want things to put on his application script for that."

Hermione turned her head in surprise. "I didn't know you knew anything about the Higher Education options."

"I didn't," said Harry, pointedly. "Dumbledore mentioned it to me. I didn't know that _you'd_ given it so much thought. You never said."

"I didn't want to bore you," said Hermione, fairly.

"It's your _future_ ," said Harry, incredulously. "I see nothing boring about that. I'd be happy to discuss it with you anytime you like. Especially as I'm hoping to be a big part of it."

Hermione smiled warmly at him. "Planning to stay around me for a bit then?" she teased, playfully.

"Only till you come to your senses about me," Harry grinned. "Just give it a bit of time, okay? A few decades, maybe."

"We'll take it a year at a time," said Hermione, smushing her head under Harry's chin. A couple of Fourth Year girls nearby swooned quietly.

"I can live with that," said Harry. "But, as far as Cho goes - sod her. If she tries to give us a hard time, let her. We'll just do whatever she asks as brilliantly as we can, just to spite her. She'll _hate_ that!"

"I like your brand of evil," said Hermione, approvingly. "Let's eat."

The Feast was as delicious as ever. Harry helped himself to a little of everything within reach and Hermione, to her eminent credit, only tutted once at his gluttony. They chatted pleasantly with Neville and Enola, learning about the Druidic coven in Brecon that she'd been raised in. Harry found it hugely interesting to learn about the alternative magical culture that existed in Britain, feeling rather dumb that he'd considered so little outside of the restricted world of Hogwarts. His ignorance felt like a huge gap in his brain, one he was now at desperate pains to fill.

Once desserts had come and gone, Dumbledore rose again to draw attention. Harry puffed out a breath as he tried to listen, thinking only of a spare piece of floor he might find, where he could roll around like a fat egg until his food went down.

"Now that we are all fed and watered," Dumbledore began. "I must once again reiterate my warnings of earlier. The Dark Lord Voldemort is once again at large and gaining strength. It is far from inconceivable that he may target this school, or see its students as ideal candidates to brainwash and recruit. The protections here have been strengthened over the Summer, but we cannot ever be too vigilant. Whilst I do not wish to create an air of fear or paranoia amongst you, I must ask that any suspicious activity be reported to your Head of House immediately. Hogwarts will keep us safe…but we must assist her as much as we can in the endeavour.

"Now, to bed with all of you."

"Come on, Harry," said Hermione, brightly. "We're up."

"I think I might just sleep here," said Harry, groggily. "I'm too heavy to move just now."

"You have no-one to blame but yourself for that," said Hermione, briskly. "Come along. First-years! Over here!"

Harry groaned and got up, falling into step in Hermione's slipstream. Up ahead, Cormac McLaggen and Katie Bell were herding some tiny students into a huddle. Harry reasoned they must be the Seventh Year Prefects. Harry was about as cross at that as Hermione was about Cho Chang being made Head Girl. McLaggen was a well-known cock-womble, a bell-end worthy of the title. Harry wasn't looking forward to being subordinate to him.

But, right now, McLaggen seemed to have his hands full. Of the fifty-seven new students who had joined Hogwarts this year, eighteen had been Sorted into Gryffindor. Harry couldn't believe how _little_ they were, nor how lost many of them looked. McLaggen seemed to have scant idea about what to do with them, and instead barked orders like a blustering army general.

"Fall in! Fall in!" he called. "Stop straggling. You there…stop crying."

"I want my Mummy," sobbed a little girl McLaggen was addressing. "I'm frightened."

"It's going to be fine," said another, older girl who had come up behind the shocked child. She had a chestnut bob falling neatly around a kind, heart-shaped face. She took the girl by the hand as Harry sent her a querying look. "I'm Demelza. Fifth Year Prefect."

"Ah, okay. I'm -"

"I know who you are," Demelza grinned. "But it's nice to actually _meet_ you, Harry Potter."

"Oh, Harry! Are you a Prefect, too? I'm so excited to have been picked, now I'm even _more_ excited if I'll be working with you!"

Harry bit his lip against the enthusiasm of Colin Creevey, who had joined Demelza nearby. His shiny red and gold Prefect badge was glinting proudly on his chest.

"Yeah…yeah, great," said Harry, smiling in what he hoped was a moderately convincing way. Hermione looked pityingly at him.

"Right then everyone," Katie called over the crowd. "Ready? This way to Gryffindor Tower! It's going to be your home from home for the next seven years…so do try and learn the route."

Katie marched the little army away like a band conductor, guiding them up the Main Staircase, along the ever-changing connections of moving stairs that followed, and finally up the long spiral of Gryffindor Tower until they reached the parapet facing the portrait of the Fat Lady. Katie spoke the password - _Cauda Pavonis_ \- and led the students inside. Harry tried to remember the faces, all looking around in wonder at the castle as they walked, but he soon gave this up as a bad job. He would just have to remember them by height…they were all the littlest ones.

"Right, can everyone hear me?" asked Katie, as the crowd came to a halt again. "Welcome to the Gryffindor Common Room. This is the communal space of our House. A place to work, to socialise and relax. Messages will be posted on the board near the door, so pay attention to any signs that go up there. Breakfast can be taken between seven and nine a.m, with classes starting promptly at ten, running through till six p.m. Do _not_ be late for class, as that carries a mandatory five House point penalty.

"House Points can be gained and lost for various reasons, which will all be detailed in the Welcome Pack you will be given at breakfast tomorrow, along with a map of the school and grounds, and your first timetable. Memorise the School Rules, and do not break them. Winning the House Cup is a great honour, and Gryffindor is on a good run right now. We'll be looking to you kids to help keep it up.

"Now, time for bed. Hermione, Demelza - if you could lead the girls to the dorms on the third floor of the Girls Tower, Cormac and Colin can take the boys to the ground floor of their Tower, and the new rooms for them."

"And what about me?" asked Harry, slightly affronted.

"I have asked Miss Bell to excuse your duties for tonight, Potter," said a Scottish accent from the back of the room. "Take a walk with me."

"Professor McGonagall…I can't be in trouble already!" Harry protested as he span around. "I've only just arrived!"

Professor McGonagall smirked briefly. "Trouble and you go hand-in-hand, Potter. Follow me, please."

Harry stomped after McGonagall out of the Portrait Hole, her emerald green robes swishing on the stone floor as she walked.

"What's this about, Professor?" asked Harry, trotting to keep up with the brisk pace.

"This is my part of the Tower, Potter," said Professor McGonagall, gesturing around. "I have ultimate jurisdiction here. We can talk safely…about your _own_ jurisdiction."

"I'm not sure I follow."

"Jurisdiction over your estate, Mister Potter," McGonagall went on. "I understand you have some concerns regarding it."

Harry huffed. "Hermione?"

"Yes, she came to visit me a few weeks ago," said McGonagall. "She explained the situation, what you have done together. I admit I was surprised. It's quite the step, for two so young. But, after hearing all the stories about the pair of you from the train this evening, my only surprise now is about the type of rings you are wearing."

Harry barked out a laugh. "We only started officially going out today. I think it might be a bit too soon to start thinking about an engagement."

"I am glad to hear you being sensible. And yet, the commitment you have made regarding your estate is tantamount to a marriage contract. You do understand that, don't you?"

"Yes, Professor," said Harry. "We signed the contract in blood, after all. We both knew what we were doing."

"And yet you try to claim your new relationship only began today?" McGonagall remarked, shrewdly. "I would have thought both yourself and Miss Granger cleverer than that."

"When it comes to each other, we've actually both been a bit dumb," Harry grinned. "But that's all sorted now. What did Hermione go to you about, if I can ask?"

Professor McGonagall ushered Harry into a dimly-lit store room. Piles of exam papers were already weighing down desks, and partially opened boxes of quills and parchment tottered from floor-to-ceiling.

"She came to tell me about your concerns over the management of your finances," said McGonagall, before adding darkly, "as well as the concerns you have over the Headmaster."

Harry scowled in the dark. "She shouldn't have told you that. We were going to keep it to ourselves."

"Mister Potter…Harry," said McGonagall slowly. It was the use of his forename, more than anything, that stilled Harry's burgeoning crossness. "Miss Granger was right to bring these concerns to me. I do not think she meant to; but, when she made a particular request of me, I had to query why she hadn't asked Dumbledore instead. I can be quite insistent, you know, when I want answers."

"Yeah, I've noticed," Harry quirked. "But…what did she ask you?"

"To accept the role as your Regent," said McGonagall simply. "In legal terms, to become your magical _guardian."_

Harry gasped in the dark. McGonagall…as his guardian. It made all sorts of sense, the kind of which Harry knew he'd have never seen on his own. He felt a rush of affection for Hermione just then, for the complete way she looked out for him so diligently.

"Would…would you be willing to do that?"

"Absolutely," said McGonagall staunchly. "That's why I asked to speak with you privately tonight."

"Are you sure? It's asking a lot," said Harry.

"It would be my honour, Harry," said Professor McGonagall. "And I think it's a very mature and sensible step for you to take. I am surprised, in all honesty, that Professor Dumbledore has never offered himself to you for the role."

Harry considered McGonagall in the gloom. He decided to trust her, she was going to be his legal guardian, after all.

"I'm glad he didn't…because I would probably have accepted," said Harry. "And that might have been very bad."

"Bad? In what way?"

"I learned from the goblins that Dumbledore has made several attempts to access my family vault," said Harry, lowly. "He's never mentioned it, and I don't know what he might have been after in there, but it's shady as all hell, isn't it?"

It was too dark to see, but Harry could almost feel McGonagall's frown. "Yes, that does sound…concerning."

"There's more to it, and I'm going to try and get to the bottom of it if I can, but that's enough for you to go on for now," said Harry. "But I just need as much protection for my stuff as I can get. You need to know all this, Professor, before you take on this role. Dumbledore might put pressure on you for information."

"I don't know that I'm the kind of witch to succumb to pressure," said McGonagall, sternly. "Even from a wizard like Dumbledore. Especially where my legal ward is concerned. You can trust me, Harry. I will protect your secrets."

"Thank you. Well…if you're sure…what do we do next?"

"We will need to schedule a meeting at Gringotts, and Miss Granger will also need to attend," said McGonagall. "We can discuss the details over the next few days."

"Okay," said Harry. "I will need a secure Floo to contact the bank. I want to keep this as private as possible until it's sorted, especially from Dumbledore. I'm sure you can understand that, Professor."

"I do," McGonagall nodded. "But Harry, in light of our new relationship, I must insist you call me by my first name…only outside of the classroom, of course."

"I don't think I could get used to that!" Harry chuckled. "But I'll give it a try."

"One thing at a time perhaps," said McGonagall, lightly. "Very well, I've kept you from Miss Granger long enough. I imagine she's hurling all sorts of obscenities around the Gryffindor Common Room about me right now."

Harry laughed again. "You will be careful around Dumbledore, won't you? I don't want you getting into danger on my account."

"I can look after myself," said McGonagall. "And your _account_ is now my responsibility. I am not stupid enough to fail to realise that danger is an inherent factor in the arrangement. It is a necessary evil of who you are, or who circumstance has made you in to. I accept it willingly, as does Miss Granger. But I also trust Albus Dumbledore, and will continue to do so until I am given reason to revise that opinion. But, if it will put your mind at ease, I shall keep an open mind and be cautious, as I asses the situation."

"That's all I ask, Prof… _Minerva,"_ said Harry. "No...that's just too weird! I…I suppose I'm just concerned, that's all. People I get close to end up getting hurt or killed. I know I'm being incredibly selfish with Hermione in that regard, but I cant help it. _You_ don't have to make such a sacrifice."

"As I said, I do it by choice," said McGonagall. "And, if I may be so bold to speak for her, Miss Granger would also have it no other way. She made an impassioned case on your behalf when she came to see me. She willingly puts herself at risk where you are concerned and, frankly, I don't think there is a single damned thing you could do to stop her!"

Harry conceded that with a soft chuckle. "She is something of a force of nature, isn't she? What have I gotten myself into with her?"

"Something positive…something that I rather think you ought to have gotten into with her a long time ago," said McGonagall. "You need her steadying influence on you, Harry. Now, run along to her…before she sends out a Hit Squad for me!"

"Yes, Miss," said Harry, obediently.

"Oh, and Harry…one more thing," said McGonagall, as Harry reached the store room door. "On the topic of _getting into things…_ don't let me hear that you've gotten into any other bed than your own tonight…"

"Professor! Seriously!?" Harry cried with a blush.

"Prefects share adjoining rooms for the N.E.W.T. years, complete with a private communal space for peaceful study," said McGonagall, unabashed. "It's a mark of trust given by the school when appointing Prefects. In light of your new relationship status with Miss Granger, I'm asking that you don't violate that trust."

Harry stopped, then grinned at his soon-to-be guardian. "Okay, I'll do as you ask. But, if _Hermione_ comes to _me_ , I can make no promises. As you said, I'm really powerless against her!"

Then he hurried off, with McGonagall's threatening admonishments echoing along the corridor behind him.


	9. An Unexpected Move

_" **Those who can make you believe absurdities...can make you commit atrocities** "_\- Voltaire.

* * *

"He'll get you killed, you know. Being his friend is one thing - he's got loads of those - but to be his _girlfriend…_ that's a death sentence. And you _know_ it."

Hermione placed her tea cup back onto its saucer with a deliberate movement, and turned from the early morning sunlight just now coming up over the Cairngorm Mountains in the distance. The view of the Scottish Highlands, through the long window of the Common Room, was pretty in the dappled light - this conversation with Ron Weasley promised to be anything but.

"And yet I'm still rather pleased to have the job," said Hermione, curtly. She turned and eyeballed Ron as coldly as she could.

"Why, Hermione…just tell me why," said Ron, almost pleading as he crossed the room to her. "Just one good reason."

"For what? Going out with Harry…or not going out with _you_?"

"Well, I…not what I meant at all," Ron fumbled, caught by the acridness of Hermione's tone.

"Of course it is!" Hermione hissed. "That note at the end of term? Not to mention that crass little letter you sent Harry on his birthday. Did you really think he wouldn't show me?"

"Was supposed to be private," Ron bitched. "But I should have guessed you'd share everything."

Hermione gave a hollow laugh. "The funny thing is that you say that as though it's a bad thing! It's actually quite wonderful to share such deep trust and intimacy with someone, so that you feel that level of comfort around them. You should try it yourself…rather than resorting to skanky chat-up lines."

Ron flushed a crimson as deep as the roots of his hair. "I thought I had that…with _you_."

Hermione couldn't help it, so she laughed again. "Why? When? Ron…all we ever do is _row_. That can't be your idea of intimacy, can it? Of affection?"

"It's only banter," Ron argued. "And it's only because of the tension between us. You know…the _sexual_ tension."

Hermione thought she might honestly throw up a bit in her mouth. Her tea tried to make an escape surge up her throat. She heaved it down again.

"Ron, I've always liked you," said Hermione, more placatingly than she knew Ron deserved. "You're one of my closest friends. But that's it. There's never been anything more romantic from my side…and, sorry, nothing _physical_. I see you like a brother, always have. The idea of anything sexual between us makes me deeply uncomfortable. Nauseous, even."

"But…but," Ron groped. "You were all upset at the Yule Ball…"

"Because you insulted and degraded me," Hermione explained, calmly. "You called me a traitor, questioned my loyalty to Harry because I accepted Viktor's invitation. Which was rich, considering how you'd acted at the start of the year. I sort of thought you were hoping Viktor would ask _you_ to the Ball _._ And you'd been calling me a liar about having a date. You pushed me over the edge and I was really upset. You…you thought I was hurt because I was secretly _fancying_ you? Is that it?"

"It's not that wild an idea," Ron moaned, bitterly.

"It is from where I'm standing," said Hermione, stunned a little at Ron's admission. "I've always been set on Harry. It isn't obvious to anyone else…but I thought _you_ knew. That's why your little note was so upsetting last year. I didn't want to write to you because of it."

"Why should I have known about you and Harry?"

"Oh come on, Ron!" Hermione cried. "We were getting closer all last year. This new thing between us hasn't just happened overnight, you know. I helped him start the DA, he would only speak to _me_ after your Dad was attacked, we became stupidly close trying to look after Hagrid's brother. We didn't do it intentionally, but we became more of a pair than a trio…and now we're a couple."

Ron toed his shoe angrily into the carpet. "Don't see how any of that is obvious. No-one else suspected."

"They did…and you know it," said Hermione. "You spent half your time laughing at it, saying Harry would never look at me like that - which is just _lovely,_ by the way - or being all jealous and grouchy about it. Plenty of other people knew, it's taken Harry and I the longest time to catch up on the knowledge."

"So…it's serious, then," Ron fumed. "You and him."

"Yeah, it is."

Hermione looked over Ron's shoulder to see Harry standing at the stairs to the Prefects Dorms. She couldn't tell how long he'd been standing there, but his stony tone told her that it had been long enough. Her heart skipped at the sight of him, and his words rang gorgeously in her ears. It was _serious.._.and Harry had said it _first_. He crossed the room to Hermione and stood at her side, possessively close…stood _proudly_ at her side, even though there were a few other students milling around by now. Hermione wasn't sure she could rightly articulate her thoughts about that.

But Harry was talking again. "And you'd better get used to it bloody fast, Ron, 'cause I'm not having her being the subject of any more grief than she has to be. It's going to be bad enough without _me and you_ having a little spat on top of it. You want to be mad? Be mad. And get over it. Because we can't be friends if you decide to be all pissy about this. Hermione is my girlfriend now…and that only changes if she decides it does. And I'd sooner give up my magic than let that happen…and I'd give up _anything_ else, too. Including our friendship."

And with that, and a few accompanying hushes from the amassed listeners, Harry turned and steered Hermione away and out of the portrait hole. It was only when they were a staircase away that Hermione found her voice again.

"Did you mean that?" she asked, quietly. "Or was it a spur of the moment?"

"I meant every syllable," said Harry, firmly. "I can do without Ron. I couldn't bear a day away from you."

Hermione felt her cheeks flush and heat. "And your magic?"

"It'd be a stretch," Harry teased, cheekily. "But if you'd have me as a Muggle, I'd do it."

"Well, I…that's…" Hermione puffed out. "Wow, Harry."

"You seem surprised."

"Shocked and awed, more like," Hermione replied, breathily. "Do…do you _really_ like me that much?"

"I really do," said Harry, smiling beautifully at her.

"Yet you never said?"

"It never occurred to me, until it _did_ , if you know what I mean. And then it was blindingly obvious. Do you get that?"

"No…it doesn't make sense."

"I sort of always knew you were the most important person in my life," said Harry. "I never wanted to let you down or disappoint you, I felt terribly guilty when I had to keep the truth from you, that sort of thing. I just never made the connection. We both know how slow I can be on the uptake! My life is crazy, Min, you know that. Normal things like being in lo - _liking_ \- someone, were just as confusing as rocket science. I had to be told what I was feeling, because I was too dense, or distracted, to see it myself."

"And who told you?" Hermione pressed as they reached the Entrance Hall.

"Neville pointed out the obvious to me when we met over the Summer," said Harry. "I already knew, but it was scary to admit it. But Nev was blunt, and after that I couldn't pretend any more."

"And you still didn't say?" said Hermione, as they flopped down at the Gryffindor table.

"I…I suppose I was a bit ashamed of myself."

"Ashamed?" asked Hermione, honestly hurt.

"Not like that," Harry correctly quickly, squeezing her arm. "Ashamed of myself for falling for my best friend. A girl so perfect she'd never give me a second glance that way. I was ashamed for being so arrogant to think she might. I was condemning myself to more misery."

Hermione's head whirled at that. Harry thought _he_ was the lucky one in this? That was a bit backwards. Then Hermione slapped herself mentally. Harry thought _she_ wouldn't look at _him_ …if that didn't give her the confidence to prove him wrong then nothing would.

"Well, in that case, I claim the right to give you as many second glances as I like," Hermione chimed. "And third and fourth glances, too, while we're at it."

"I concede," Harry grinned. "It'll be odd though, won't it, at least to start with? Looking at each other all the time."

"Not at all," said Hermione, brightly. "I've spent the last five years looking at you. The only new thing for me will be having you look _back._ Which I totally give you permission for, by the way."

Harry dropped his spoon into the sugar bowl with a clang and looked up. "You give me permission to _ogle_ you? In public?"

Hermione laughed cheerily, but fire pooled in her belly and shot below her waistline in spite of herself. The fact that Harry was sat here, openly admitting he _was_ going to objectify her, maybe even _fantasise_ about her, was deliciously erotic. It caused Hermione to tremble, even from within the warmth of her robes. This was something that would take a while to get used to.

"Yes…yes I do," she replied eventually.

Hermione watched Harry gulp and struggle with his words, his thoughts a torrent behind his eyes. The passion burning there was astonishing, and highly tempting. Hermione could only smile like a fool in reply to it.

"Okay. Thank you," said Harry. "And what about other stuff?"

"Other stuff?" asked Hermione, her tremble becoming an all over shake.

"Can I hug you? And kiss you? Even if other people are around?"

"I'd hope you would," said Hermione, grinning shyly. "I don't want to initiate _all_ of our kisses, Harry. You have to take a turn."

So he did, right there at the breakfast table. Several wolf-whistles hit their ears but Harry didn't seem to care at all, and Hermione found herself oddly thrilled to hear them. She was _kissing_ Harry Potter, right in the middle of the Great Hall. What was not to love about _that?_

Just then, there was a polite cough above them that caused Hermione and Harry to snap apart. Professor McGonagall was stood over them, looking part-amused, but also part-grave, as she looked down at them.

"You know, Miss Granger, you should really be seeking my permission to date my charge," said McGonagall smoothly. "Before you embed your tongue in his throat. But, perhaps, that ship has already sailed."

"And what harmony it is," Harry grinned, as Hermione curled her eyes down shyly at his side. "What can we do for you, Professor?"

"The Headmaster has called for all the senior staff to meet in the ante-chamber just off the Great Hall," McGonagall explained. "He asked that you attend, Mister Potter. But I think any invitation to _you_ must also extend to Miss Granger. Come along, then."

"What's this about?" asked Harry, as Hermione gathered up her things and fell into stride alongside him.

"The Headmaster wouldn't say," McGonagall replied. "But his mood was very dark when I spoke to him."

Hermione felt a chill sweep over her skin, with goosebumps erupting on her forearms even though the morning air was warm. Harry was a vision of fixed determination and Hermione willed herself to be his steely equal. But it wasn't easy. Even McGonagall seemed unsettled. Whatever Dumbledore was about to tell them promised to be hard to hear.

But it wasn't the Headmaster who was going to convey the information. As McGonagall opened the ante-chamber Dumbledore clocked a look at Hermione, lingering close to Harry's shoulder. He gave the briefest of nods to permit her attendance, then turned up the volume of the Wizarding Wireless set the rest of the teachers were crowded around.

And the voice coming from the speaker turned Harry's face the most pallid Hermione had ever seen it. Colour left his cheeks at the first few words, and threatened never to return. The vision turned Hermione cold, and she was in no doubt of the identity of the hiss-like tone now reverberating around the small room.

For _Lord Voldemort_ was addressing the magical nation.

"My fellow witches and wizards, magical Britons the length and breadth of our great country, I am Lord Voldemort. For the longest time, the media and propagandists amongst them, have added the label _dark_ to my title. But I am no _Dark Lord_ , nor have I ever been, unless _dark_ is defined by my desire to preserve the gift, the uniqueness, the _blessing_ of magic, that has been conferred upon the chosen of us in the world.

"For too long the magical community has been led by weak, delusion fools such as Cornelius Fudge and Albus Dumbledore. Wizards who would _dilute_ the purity of our race - for that is what we are, my fellow wizards…a _race_. Different to the Muggles, different to the half-bloods and Muggleborns, who display a mere remnant of the gift of Magic…and who are unworthy to carry the name of witch or wizard.

"Fudge, Dumbledore and their ilk are _traitors_ to magic. They hide us from the world, subjugate us to the Muggles. We are controlled by a _Ministry_ \- a mere _branch_ of the wider British Government. We are under their control, under their boot. Unable to thrive, unable to grow. We are the bastard children of this society in their eyes.

"Look only at your own communities. Wizards living in poverty, in squalor, hiding in the rat-infested filth where the Muggle fears to go. We have Muggleborns and Muggle-lovers in control of business, of money, hoarding our wealth; they are in charge of education, banking, social care. When could you last move freely about this country? When did you last openly talk of your nature in your community?

"The truth? You never have! You fear scorn, of recriminations - yes, even violent - should your Muggle neighbours know of your true nature. For you are forced to live, and hide, among them. You fear for yourselves, for your children, for this Government has failed to provide for and protect you from the bigotry of the Muggle!

"Well, no more, my fellow magicals! I, here and now, announce my intention to bring about fresh elections for Minister for Magic, and I will stand as a candidate myself! I promise a different way, my magical brothers and sisters! I promise a New Deal for all magical people! We need living space, we need to grow. We need to root out the cancer of Muggle influence from our cherished bloodlines. We are Magic…and Magic is Might! So, in the coming elections, when faced with the choice, which way will you look, my honoured friends? Servitude and slavery to the Muggle…or freedom and prosperity…with _me_ …the Heir of Salazar Slytherin himself! Vote for the D.E. Party…vote for Lord Voldemort!"

Hermione sat back, stunned. Harry looked like he'd swallowed an owl. There was a palpable silence that hung heavy on the room. It was Severus Snape who broke the thick air.

"Dumbledore…this changes things."

"It does," the Headmaster agreed. "I…I did not see this coming."

"What can we do?" asked Professor Sprout. Her face was the grey of week-old porridge.

"I fear there is nothing," said Dumbledore. "We all expected Lord Voldemort to launch a violent coup against the magical government…but _this_ …he is legitimately attempting to claim power."

"It wont work, though?" Harry asked bluntly. "No-one's going to buy all that Pureblood crap, are they?"

Hermione felt her heart sink. Harry's words were not in keeping with his tone. It was clear he knew, just as well as she did, that Voldemort's claims would appeal to a huge proportion of the British magical population. Dumbledore's pitying eyes betrayed the same conclusion. Hermione could have cried out against the despair which crossed Harry's expression.

But it was Snape, again, who replied. "The Dark Lord's words will resonate with many. They aren't strictly accurate, but they carry a grain of truth."

"What grain?" Harry spat.

"Many witches and wizards feel curtailed by the restrictions the Ministry and ICW places on us," said Snape. "Our movements are limited, we cannot be our true selves in 95% of this country."

"Or _any_ country in Europe," Professor Sinistra pointed out, fairly.

"Exactly," Snape continued. "And, right now, our economy is struggling. The Ministry can only provide so many jobs. We have the highest unemployment rate in the developed world, the highest number of people unable to purchase their first homes, and there are even stories of wizards having to use Muggle food banks just to feed themselves. The environment is primed for an extremist message."

"One that Lord Voldemort seems more than happy to proffer," said Dumbledore acridly.

"And you think lots of people will believe it?" asked Hermione.

"Desperation will make reasonable people believe anything," said McGonagall. "You-Know-Who is offering not only a solution…but a _scapegoat_. Albus…we should take steps to protect the Muggleborns in the school."

"And their families," said Harry, staring powerfully at Hermione. "I have land in South Wales, lots of it. I offer it all as a safe haven."

All heads flicked to Harry, but he was unmoved. Dumbledore approached him slowly.

"That is an incredibly generous offer, Harry," said the Headmaster. "But it is not without risk. If the rhetoric of Voldemort gains traction, Muggleborns and half-bloods may be targeted."

"Then we find a way to protect them," said Harry, firmly. "I am the Lord of that land. There must be a way I can throw up defences different, older, to anything Voldemort might have to offer. You said we were going to get involved in ritual, sir…this is _Wales_ …there must be some sort of ancient Druidic or Celtic power I can draw on."

Dumbledore flicked his eyes at McGonagall, then at Snape. Both nodded in understanding.

"There may be, Harry," said the Headmaster, his mind whirring fast. "But we must act swiftly. Severus, return to Voldemort…learn all you can about his campaign plans. Miss Granger, Harry…come with me."

"What for?" asked Harry.

"We need to enact a coronation ceremony as soon as possible," said Dumbledore. "Before we can use your land, you need to complete an accession ritual to take proper ownership of it."

"And why does Hermione have to come?" asked Harry. His tone was so fiercely protective that Hermione was rendered speechless by it.

"Because we need to use your Ceremonial Robe," said Dumbledore. "And we need Miss Granger's permission to get it."

"I…I don't know anything about a Ceremonial Robe," Hermione protested. "Nor where it might be."

"Of course you don't," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "But you have a say in the access to it."

"Stop and explain," said Harry, pulling Hermione to a halt as Dumbledore tried to lead them away. "What is this Robe…and how does Hermione have it?"

"She doesn't have it," Dumbledore explained. "But it is stored in your Gringotts Vault. And, after your recent agreement, nothing can be removed without both of you concurring on Vault access. As for what it is…why, it's the blanket I wrapped you in the night I delivered you to Petunia Dursley, Harry. It shrouded you from unfriendly eyes, and kept you safe and warm through that difficult first night. I have been trying to get it back, as I felt it might help in your resistance to Lord Voldemort's mental incursions. Your mother's love is extraordinarily powerful, Harry…"

* * *

Harry and Hermione sat in Hagrid's cabin, sipping quietly at their rapidly cooling tea. Fang, Hagrid's normally excitable boar hound, was equally as subdued, with his slobbering chops resting on Harry's knee. Harry scratched his head and watched Remus Lupin absorb the information he'd just been given by Dumbledore. The lycanthrope had been offered sanctuary by the Headmaster mere hours after Voldemort's earth-shattering announcement.

For, after all, if Muggleborns were going to be at risk, people like Remus Lupin would be in similar mortal peril.

Harry was glad that Lupin was here. His once-favourite teacher, the last close link to his father and Sirius. It was comforting to have him so close by, safe, a source of trust and advice in a world rapidly diminishing in both. Not that Harry intended to bother him with his own problems just yet. Lupin had enough to process and, if his harrowed and drawn expression was anything to go by, this was quite enough to be going on with for the time being.

"It's worryin'," said Hagrid, pouring himself another mug of tea. "Can' say this is what I would 'ave seen comin'."

"No, nor I," Lupin agreed. He was peering out of the small window, looking back up at the castle. "It's a shrewd move. Even if it is an unexpected one."

"I don't understand," said Harry. "There was all the build-up - recruiting Death Eaters, turning Percy and Charlie Weasley, the attacks on others. What was the point in all that?"

"Preparation, I assume?" Hermione replied, her question directed at Lupin's threadbare back. "Voldemort wants to be ready."

Lupin turned and smiled fondly at Hermione. "I see you've lost none of your logical mind. Yes, I quite agree with you."

"Preparation for what?" asked Harry, keen to get on the same page and Hermione and Lupin. "If there isn't going to be an open war, what's he preparing for?"

"Open war was never a true possibility," Lupin explained. "Magical society is secret, not out in the open. War of that nature was never going to happen. It was expected that Voldemort would attempt to seize power in a Push - as he tried to before."

"What happened then? Last time?" Harry asked.

"He killed people, is what," Hagrid boomed. "Went after powerful families. If he couldn't turn em, he killed em. Good families, too. The Prewetts, The Fawcetts, The Longbottoms."

"And, of course, The _Potters_ ," Lupin added, inclining his head respectfully to Harry and, which made Harry's insides squirm pleasantly, _Hermione_ , too. She blushed as the understanding settled on her. "Voldemort wanted to remove all opposition and take power by force. But he was thwarted. His move this time shows a shrewd sort of cleverness. He seems to have learned from his mistakes, a trait we all thought he was incapable of. Our mistake has been to underestimate him."

"What I don't understand, Professor Lupin -" Hermione began, but Lupin interrupted her.

"I have not been your Professor for some time. I must insist that you call me Remus, especially in light of your own, new status."

"Excuse me? I don't follow."

"Minerva told me all about yours and Harry's change in relationship," Lupin smiled warmly. "Congratulations to you both. I can hardly say I'm surprised, you always were very close, even when I was teaching you."

Harry laughed and turned to Hermione. "Ever get the feeling we are literally the last people to notice this?"

"More and more every day," Hermione huffed. She turned back to Lupin. "But I still don't know what you mean about my status."

"Harry has become a Lord following poor Sirius' death," said Lupin. "The title wont be officially conferred upon him until he turns seventeen, but that's just an oversight. Harry claimed his land today, he is the Earl of Glamorgan now, in all but the relevant documentation. In a tiered society such as ours, Harry outranks us. Social protocol dictates that he need only use titles with people of similar rank. And, as you are Harry's partner now, the same applies to you."

"Oh, I…I didn't realise that. I thought it would only apply if we…if we…ever got married."

Harry shot her a startled look. His heart rose in his chest. _Married_ …to _Hermione?_ He'd barely considered marriage at all, but now…now the concept was cascading into his mind. He knew this carried the danger of consuming him, but he was powerless to prevent it.

"You've looked into this?" Harry whispered. "When?"

"After we visited the bank," Hermione returned, turning her eyes down coyly. "I picked up a book on traditional protocol. I wasn't specifically looking at the… _marriage_ stuff…but I thought maybe the archaic rules could put a sort of buffer around you. Then I just sort of…came across the rest."

She was fibbing, Harry knew that instantly. But she was so adorable in her shy avoidance that Harry didn't press her on the matter.

That would be something for later.

"Anyway," Hermione continued, "back to what I wanted to ask, Prof - _Remus_ …why has Voldemort changed tack, do you think?"

"He knows the potential of using established systems to further his own agenda," Lupin replied. "Dumbledore once told me that Tom Riddle actually applied for a teaching position here at Hogwarts. He saw the value in shaping young minds to his own twisted ideals. But I have to imagine that there was more to it, not that Dumbledore ever elaborated on my suspicions."

"He applied for a job here?" asked Harry, aghast. "Which one?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts, I believe."

Hermione gasped. "Remus…do you think, I mean…is it possible…how many Dark Arts Professors have there been since Riddle was denied the job?"

"Pretty much one a year," said Lupin. "It's something of a standing joke, actually. People think the job is….cursed."

Lupin's voice trailed off and he and Hermione shared a dark look of understanding.

"Do you think it could be?" asked Hermione in a little voice. "I mean… _actually_ cursed?"

"I wouldn't have until you suggested it," said Lupin, thinking aloud. "But now…it's certainly something to consider. I may have to bring this up with the Headmaster."

"So, Riddle wanted to be a teacher," said Harry. "But why try to be a politician now? Why not just make a grab for power by force again?"

"He wants legitimacy, in the eyes of the public," Lupin replied. "He is preying on prejudices that are, I'm sorry to say, deeply entrenched in the psyche of many witches and wizards. You have seen the elitism for yourselves, in the treatment of magical creatures, who are largely downtrodden or excluded altogether. My own treatment and marginalisation in society are good examples, too, not to mention the abuse I know you, Hermione, have personally suffered."

"Yes, I'm no stranger to being called a Mudblood," Hermione swore angrily. Harry felt his own ire stir on her behalf.

"Precisely, and there are many who would throw such terms around and not fully appreciate the impact they have," Lupin went on. "Anti-Muggle sentiment is rife. Muggles are seen as backwards, curiosities. The prevalence of Muggle-baiting is particularly worrying, but the punishments for such crimes have been largely trivial. Petty fines at most, even for some of the worst offences."

"And lots of wizards, ones we'd think were generally good people, also express these views," Hermione nodded sagely.

"Like the Weasleys," said Harry, cottoning on. "Arthur always messed about with Muggle stuff, and treated Hermione's parents like they were pets. That's the way they described it to me. And Ron…he was always giving Dean a hard time about football and posters that didn't have moving images, as though they were somehow inferior to magical alternatives."

"Exactly," said Lupin. "This sort of casual racism can be found in wizarding homes across the country. Now Voldemort is tapping into the disenfranchisement of our generation…a generation who still remember his last attempt. Some of whom remember the financial costs of waging that war. Don't forget, many supported his cause back then, too, and I don't just mean the people who joined up as Death Eaters. Many average magicals bought into his doctrine, many thought his crusade was a righteous one."

"People like Umbridge, and most of the Slytherin families," Harry fumed.

"Not just the Slytherin's, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "There are plenty from the other houses who share the same view."

"I just don't get where it's come from," Harry riled. "Just why do they think they're so superior?"

"Mostly from a single sourcebook," Hermione interjected. Harry guffawed…he should have guessed Hermione would have the answer if a book was to blame. "A third century Greek wizard called Apollonius wanted to establish a magical-only state. He attempted to 'purify' the island of Crete for this Wizard Utopia. The coup failed, and he spent the rest of his days in prison. There he wrote his memoirs, known simply as _Musings_ , where he spelled out his plans and reasons."

"The book outlined, in detail, the idea of a magical Master Race," Lupin took over. "It has struck a chord with a certain type of wizard ever since. Apollonius is seen as the founding father of wizarding eugenics."

"But he was actually insane," said Hermione. "And a vicious, heartless bastard. He butchered the poor people of Crete. In his last years, he had lost his mind so much that he started speaking in a garbled language that only he understood. Totally mental."

"And yet wizards still follow his teachings?" said Harry, astonished. "Are people really that stupid?"

"Try not to see it as stupidity, Harry," said Lupin, patiently. "It's actually cleverer than you think. People who push the Pureblood agenda cite this ancient tome as their validity. Ancient books are seen as carrying great knowledge and power - just look at the major religions of the world. They all prescribe to doctrines written down in ancient texts."

"And there will always be those attracted to the promise of easy power," Hermione added. "Especially if they can convince themselves that they are better than everyone else…or can find someone to blame for their own problems."

Harry sat back and pondered that a moment. "So…you both think this will work? Voldemort will win this way?"

"Think of it like this, Harry," said Lupin, sitting on the chair opposite him. "There are those who will agree with Voldemort's rhetoric. They will gladly blame Muggles and Muggleborns for their own failings, and accept Voldemort's promise that they will prosper under him. Many moderates will be persuaded that way, too, especially those disenchanted with Fudge and the Ministry's history of bumbling mistakes.

"Some will be too afraid of Voldemort to oppose him, others will be threatened into supporting his claim. He doesn't need to win over everybody, just enough to take power."

"And then?" asked Harry.

"He'll dismantle the Government, and use the secret army he's raisin' to control us all, the ones who don' toe the line," said Hagrid, darkly.

"And the worst part is that he will do it with the public's backing," Lupin added. "Oh he'll wrap it up in all sorts of honeyed words and propaganda, but few will oppose him. And those that do, will be eliminated."

Harry's jaw dropped in horror. The bluntness of Lupin's words…he spoke as though this were a foregone conclusion.

"Is there _nothing_ that can be done?" asked Hermione, the desperation evident in her own tone.

"Our best hope is to launch a counter-campaign," said Lupin. "Obviously, Fudge isn't the right man for the job. Dumbledore refuses to put himself up in opposition, though he's never been clear why. But he is fronting the plans to find a suitable candidate. I just hope there is someone out there willing to stand against Voldemort."

Harry nodded at that. He'd tried it once or twice, and it was a terrifying experience. The witch or wizard would have to be extremely brave - the job would certainly come with the constant threat of death hanging overhead. Harry ruefully wished Sirius was still alive, he'd have had the courage to stand up and be counted. Harry went back to sipping his tea, as a new pensive quiet descended on the room, with each person thinking the same thing:

To stand up and be counted…it was a choice they'd all have to make. And soon.


	10. Quiet Weapons for Silent Wars

Harry looked up from unpacking his school bag just as his girlfriend entered the Transfiguration classroom. He breathed out a relieved lungful of air, for he had been starting to wonder where Hermione had gotten to. Most girls took a while in the bathroom, but Hermione Granger was not _most girls_. She was not prone to the whims of toilet stall chatter, preferring to get in, do her business, then get out.

So any delay was cause for concern, and made Harry immediately worry about rogue trolls, who had an uncanny knack of finding their way into the school's bathrooms.

But today promised to be a troll-free day. Hermione was late, a little flustered, but otherwise unharmed. Harry was eminently thankful for that.

"Was there a queue for Cubicle Two?" Harry teased. "I've heard it's the very best one there is."

Hermione frowned back, and Harry's mood steeled at the dark look on his girlfriends' face.

"It's started already, Harry," Hermione breathed. "That's why I'm late."

"What's started?" asked Harry, inching protectively closer on instinct.

"The Muggleborn abuse," Hermione explained. "There was a Fifth Year Hufflepuff girl, Amanda Banks, crying her eyes out in the toilet. Her boyfriend dumped her…just because she was Muggleborn. They'd been together nearly a year."

"Hold on," said Harry, his jaw setting firmly. "Mandy Banks…isn't that who Michael Corner was seeing? The prick who Ginny was being fingered by before?"

Hermione shook her head pityingly. "You have the tact of a tomahawk missile, do you know that?"

Harry understood. For at that inopportune moment, Ron happened to pass their table. Judging by his frown, he'd heard Harry slandering his sister. Harry just scoffed at it.

"Like I give a toss what _he_ thinks," said Harry, loudly enough so half the room probably heard. "He's had four days to talk to us, but he's chosen not to. It's a book I consider closed."

"As do I," Hermione agreed. "But we are already kicking enough hornet's nests, don't you think? No point encouraging ankle-biting gnomes on top of that."

Harry barked out a laugh. "Okay. I'll be quieter, if you like."

"All I'm saying is that we have enough negativity around us as it is…" said Hermione, her voice tailing off.

Harry snapped his head to her. "What do you mean? Has…has something happened to you?"

"Well, I - I've been getting some dirty looks in the corridors," Hermione confessed. "I sort of expected that, because of what's happening with _us_ , but some of the looks I've been getting are a bit…well, frightening."

"Aww, are you _frightened_ , Granger? You'd better get used to it. This is the brave new world. Personally, I'm loving it. Can't wait till things _really_ get going."

Harry felt his jaw tighten, as Draco Malfoy's slick drawl drew his attention. The boy himself appeared at Hermione's shoulder just then, grinning malevolently as he stopped at their table.

"Yeah, I bet you know all about the plans Daddy and his little friends are making," Hermione hissed.

Malfoy looked like someone had thrown manure in his mouth. "Forgive me if I don't reply to your… _urgh_ …girlfriend, Potter," Malfoy sneered, ignoring Hermione completely. "I've never liked being forced to converse with sub-humans…soon I wont have to at all."

"Watch your mouth, Malfoy," Harry snapped, viciously.

"Or what?" Malfoy taunted back. "I'm only trying to do you're a favour. You're the one persisting with this filthy bit of Mudblood arse -"

Malfoy's tirade suddenly halted, as Harry flicked a whispered _Immobulus_ spell at him, holding him fast. Harry was around the table in a flash, but before he could do any more, Professor McGonagall's voice floated to his ears.

"As impressive as this piece of spellwork is, Mister Potter, may I remind you that you are not in Charms. This is _Transfiguration_ and, if you wish to avoid punishment, I suggest you _transfigure something._ "

Harry smiled devilishly. He flicked his wand again, and Draco Malfoy was suddenly nowhere to be seen. Professor McGonagall crossed the room in three strides, then bent to pick something up from around Harry's feet.

"Now, see here class," McGonagall announced, dangling a creature from her fingers. "See how Mister Potter has transformed Mister Malfoy into a very accurate, if twitchy, little ferret. Notice the distinctive bright white whiskers, reminiscent of Mister Malfoy's hair. It will be this attention to detail that will serve you well on your N.E.W.T exams. Take twenty points for Gryffindor, Mister Potter. Oh, and for Merlin's Sake, change this fidgety little rodent back to his usual self."

"If I must," said Harry, mutinously. He flicked his wand again, and Draco Malfoy was stood before him once more, a furious look plastered to his flustered face. His hair was stood askance, but he had eyes only for Harry.

"I'll make you pay for that, Potter!" Malfoy sniped, nastily.

"I can _pay_ for that?" asked Harry, silkily. "I would definitely be up for that! How about a few Galleons per time? More if I can make you shit yourself in different forms."

"Fuck you, Potter!"

"Ooh, I see you learned a swear word hanging out with Daddy and his Death Eater chums this Summer," Harry taunted. "Good for you. Maybe this time next year you can grow some balls, too. Or maybe not. Perhaps you'll just have to be content with that vagina of yours. After all, only _pussies_ hang out in gangs and bully the weak."

"Potter! Malfoy! Take your seats. I have a class I'd like to begin."

Harry and Malfoy glowered at each other a few more seconds, then obeyed Professor McGonagall's demand.

"You shouldn't let him goad you like that, Harry," said Hermione as Harry slid back into his seat next to her. "He only wants to get a rise out of you. Don't give him the satisfaction."

"Excuse me, but _I_ found that very satisfying," Harry grinned in reply.

"Well, yes, it was rather hilarious," Hermione agreed, her eyes twinkling. "I'm just saying you need to be careful. You might be able to get away with that sort of stuff in front of McGonagall - especially in light of recent changes - but with others you might not be so fortunate. I just don't want to risk you getting punished, or isolated, just because of baiting idiots like Malfoy."

Harry nodded his head in understanding. They'd decided already that with all the dark changes threatening the world, they were safest together. Being separated was now not only an abhorrent idea romantically, it was genuinely dangerous.

The lesson passed normally enough. It was a simple recap lesson to start the term and by the end of it Harry and Hermione were the top performers in the class. Not only had they managed to successfully turn the thimbles they were meant to be transfiguring into tea cups, but they had also conjured a tea pot and milk jug and were making use of their quaint tea service, sipping away whilst others struggled around them. It earned them thirty more house points, not only for their perfect tea cups, but also for demonstrating the value of teamwork.

Once the bell rung the students began packing up and filing out. Harry and Hermione made to follow, but McGonagall beckoned them to her table.

"Close the door, Harry," the Professor instructed. Harry obeyed and joined Hermione at McGonagall's desk.

"Are we in trouble?" asked Hermione, biting her lip. "I thought we did well in class."

"Oh, you were both excellent," McGonagall replied, waving her hand. "This isn't to do with school."

McGonagall flicked her wand at the door, throwing up a powerful Privacy Ward. She turned her wand next to the large portrait on the wall behind her desk, transforming it to a large, arched doorway. Harry looked at her in curious surprise.

"What is that?" he asked.

"Not all the secret passages in castle are ancient," McGonagall quipped. "In fact, this one is brand new."

"Where does it go?" asked Hermione, cocking her head to look into the gloom of the arch.

"To a secure location inside Gringotts," said McGonagall. "The bank is the most guarded place in the country. It will provide sanctuary in an emergency situation. Remember this exit if ever you need an quick escape. I've spelled the portrait to respond to you."

"Thank you, that's really thoughtful of you," said Harry.

"It is my duty, Harry," said McGonagall. The use of Harry's first name drew a raised eyebrow from Hermione, but Harry was starting to get used to it. "Or, after today, it will be."

Harry returned his gaze to the Professor.

"The goblins contacted me this morning," McGonagall explained. "The Regency ritual can be performed today, if you are still sure."

"Absolutely," said Harry, firmly. "Are we going now?"

"I understand you have a free period next," McGonagall replied. Harry nodded. "And I have sent a note to Professor Furthank excusing you from your Ancient Runes class, Miss Granger."

"Am I coming too?" asked Hermione, startled.

"As a proxy for Harry's estate nothing can be done without your concurrence," McGonagall explained. "Harry has offered me the position of Regent, but _you_ must be the one to ratify it."

"Okay. Wow."

Hermione looked a little overwhelmed, but Harry sent her his most winning smile as he took her hand and followed McGonagall into the dark arch. For a few seconds they moved through an icy mist, but it lasted no longer than moving between rooms. The mist cleared and they found themselves in a tight, circular chamber. There was a stepped, rectangular platform just ahead of them and McGonagall led the way up it, the hem of her robe breaking the mist an ankle level with each stride.

Harry and Hermione came to a halt atop the platform. Harry looked down at a very unusual plinth that took up most of the space there. There were two indents, roughly hand-shaped, and a narrow channel running down the middle. It was stained dark, standing out even against the darkness elsewhere. Harry swallowed as he assessed it.

"I asked the goblins to prepare this space for us," McGonagall explained. "I'm assured that the process should not take long. Wait here, I will fetch the goblin, Arngor."

And with that, she swept away and left the room. Harry turned to Hermione, who was slightly pale.

"I'm not sure I like the look of that, Harry," she whispered, curling her arm around his and hugging in close. "It has _blood ritual_ written all over it."

"Don't worry, it'll be alright," Harry replied, reassuringly. "I had a feeling it would be like this. I doubt it will be much different to the ritual we did."

Hermione smiled warmly at that, turning the gold band on her finger and remembering fondly. "Well…that wasn't _so_ bad…"

"No, it wasn't," Harry agreed, placing his hand over hers so that their rings clinked together. They shared a moment, but it was punctured by the return of McGonagall, the swarthy little goblin in tow.

"Mister Potter, Miss Granger," said Arngor, inclining his mottled head. "A pleasure to see you again."

"Likewise," Harry replied. "Will this procedure be difficult?"

"No, this is a fairly standard blood rite," Arngor explained. "It will not take long. But, before we can begin, I am protocol bound to offer you one last chance to change your mind. There is no undoing this once completed."

"I'm sure," said Harry. "Let's proceed."

"Very well," said Arngor. "Mister Potter, if you stand at the far end of the plinth and place your right hand into the runed mould. Madam McGonagall, if you could do the same on the opposite end."

Harry and Minerva moved to opposite ends of the plinth, and a light grew above them from high in the gloom. It allowed Harry a better look; this was more like an altar of sorts, intricately carved with runes and other markings Harry didn't recognise. Hermione was bending in too, inspecting the markings with her ever-critical eye. The great academic was rising in her, Harry could see that pasted across her expression. It stirred him to see it, and he rather fancied he could watch her in deductive mode and never tire of it. It brought a subtle beauty to her that Harry was only now beginning to fully appreciate. He would have to encourage her more.

"Let us begin," said Arngor. "You will feel a series of slight pricks, but try to hold your hands steady. I know that you humans have an embarrassingly poor threshold for pain."

The goblin smirked in what might have passed for sarcasm, but Harry's attention was stolen from that as sharp cuts were made to his thumb, middle and pinky fingers. Then another at the base of his palm. Harry bit his tongue to hold in a yelp, determined not to show weakness in front of Hermione or Minerva, who looked a little surprised but otherwise unmoved.

Harry looked down at the altar. The narrow channel connecting the hand moulds was now full with blood, his and Minerva's. It mingled together, flashing silver then gold then silver again in random sequence. There was a hypnotic quality to it, and a subdued sense of power that was growing with each cycle of blend and mix, as the blood flowed freely around the groove-like channel. Harry felt it move around him like a steadily more gusty breeze.

The goblin turned to Harry. "Lord Potter, please repeat after me…I, Harry James Potter…"

"I, Harry James Potter," Harry recited.

"Do nominate Minerva Elizabeth McGonagall as my chosen Regent," Arngor continued. Harry repeated the line. "I entrust to her, the powers of Authority over my estate. I place in her my trust, to carry out the duties of Regency, and to uphold the honour and dignity of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, till the day I assume Authority myself. So say Aye."

"So say Aye," Harry completed. He felt a rush of magic shoot along the blood channel from his splayed palm to Minerva's a foot or so away. It startled her as well as him, and the blood shone with a fixed silvery hue.

The goblin turned to face Minerva. "Repeat after me - I, Minerva Elizabeth McGonagall."

"I, Minerva Elizabeth McGonagall."

"Do solemnly and willingly, accept the role of Regent of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter. I swear to uphold the honour and dignity of the House, to protect its secrets and incumbent members, to carry out the duties of my office, and to never betray the Oath I now make. I will represent this House as if it were my own, until Lord Harry James Potter comes of age. So say Aye."

"So say Aye," McGonagall repeated. There was another, fiercer swoosh of magic between Harry and Minerva. Harry felt it race up his arm like a calming warmth and settle on his chest. Minerva felt it too and smiled at Harry. It was a subtle sort of look that made Harry shiver pleasantly, for the expression wasn't one of teacher to pupil. If Harry had to put a name to it, he might have used the term… _parental._

"Miss Granger, if you could step forwards please," Arngor went on.

Harry snapped his head to him. "What are you going to do with her?"

He couldn't hide the mix of concern and threat in his voice.

"Miss Granger is required to complete the rite," said Arngor. "But we do need a little of her blood."

"If you hurt her…"

"Harry, it's fine," Hermione soothed, touching his arm gently. She addressed the goblin. "What must I do?"

"Take this dagger," said the goblin, handing over a shiny silver blade. "Make a small cut to your palm and add your blood to the receptacle."

Harry made to protest, but Hermione shushed him with a stern look as she took the ceremonial dagger. The handle was made of white bone that shone brilliantly against the otherwise gloomy chamber. Light glinted off the sharp edge of the blade as Hermione placed it to her palm and closed her fingers around it. She took one, steadying breath, then before Harry was ready to look away, she made a deft little cut.

"Ow!" she whimpered briefly, causing Harry's heart to rebel against the sound. He wanted to go to her, but she was mastering the pain and following Arngor's instruction. Hermione let her hand hover over the altar, dripping her blood into the mixture already swirling there. It changed from the light touch of silver to a much deeper gold. Harry met her eyes in wonder. This was all very bizarre.

"Repeat after me," said Arngor. "I, Hermione Jane Granger, Blood-bound proxy of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, do ratify the investiture of Minerva Elizabeth McGonagall to the position of House Regent. I entrust to her the duties of our House, to be executed with honour and dignity. And I solemnly swear to hold her to account should she, under any malicious intent, bring our House into disrepute or danger. So say Aye."

Harry eyes widened at that, and he looked at Hermione to gauge her mind. But she was staring fixedly at McGonagall, a look so protectively fierce that Harry's breath caught in his throat. It was like a lioness baring her teeth, but both women shared a innate understanding that Harry couldn't decipher at all.

"So say Aye," Hermione repeated firmly.

Magic surged and throbbed around the room. Harry grabbed onto the altar with his free hand, fearful that they were being hit by some kind of indoor storm. The strong gusts of magical energy darted around the room, penetrating all present. Harry felt the odd sensation drift across his skin, feeling it ease down and absorb into his very flesh.

Then, down on the altar, the blood began churning and moving. It collected in the centre of the channel a moment, then sped away to the hand moulds. Harry felt the blood _enter_ his body through the cuts in his fingers and palms, healing them instantly as the last drops joined the blood already flowing in his veins. That new sense of familiarity he had felt with Minerva earlier was more pronounced now, and growing. It was a sensation Harry found insanely comforting.

"The ritual is now complete," said Arngor. "You may remove your hands. A salve, Miss Granger, for your own wound."

The goblin offered Hermione a sweet-smelling swab, which she took and pressed against her palm. Harry hurried to her.

"Are you alright?" he asked, helping to apply pressure to the cut. "Did that hurt very much?"

"It's fine, Harry," Hermione smiled, cupping his cheek with her other hand. I may not have spent years being smashed by Bludgers or dodging dragons, but I'm not as petite a little flower as you might think. I can handle it."

"Even so," said Minerva, coming over to join them. "We should get you back to the school. Poppy can repair that cut in a heartbeat."

"Before you go, Mister Potter," said Arngor. "I have something for you."

"What is it?" asked Harry, curious.

"As per your instruction, I have been investigating the contents of your Vaults, to assess the potential risk value of the items there. I found something that is rather disturbing, but you may wish to look further into it yourself."

"What did you find?" asked Harry, his mood darkening.

"Your parents were extremely security-conscious, especially towards the end," Arngor explained. "They installed a number of measures to monitor the safety of their home. There were the obvious wards and enchantments, but less expected was their use of memory crystals, to record events. This is an ancient form of magic, one largely overlooked in the modern day. These crystals were recovered from the ruins of your house and stored in the family Vault.

"I look the liberty of reviewing the final entry…from the night of your parent's death. The record I saw was… _interesting_. You may wish to see it for yourself."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Why? What was on it?"

"The security crystals detected all life in the house that night," Arngor explained. "They were configured to see through all sorts of enchantments, to pick up life signatures. They recorded yourself, your parents, even your pet cat. And He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, of course. But there was another life sign, a person hidden in the shadows, watching the events play out."

"Who?" asked Harry, his impatience growing. "Who was it?"

"That is the mystery, we do not know," Arngor explained. "There was definitely another soul present, but they were well concealed. Not only by spells but by something else. My guess would be some sort of garment, one so perfectly made that it shrouded the wearer utterly, from any unfriendly eyes and forms of magical detection."

"Like…like an _Invisibility Cloak?_ "

Hermione's cautious whisper turned Harry's blood to ice. He didn't want to look at her, to consider the implications of what she was suggesting. But the idea was already taking root…and it made Harry's insides churn with the horror of it.

"It would have to be the most flawless Invisibility Cloak in history," said Arngor. "But it's as good a guess as any. I will give you the crystals for review, Mister Potter, and this modified Pensieve in which to view them. I have made copies for you, the originals will remain in the Vault…should yours fall into the wrong hands."

The goblin's words were so loaded Harry felt them fall into his shoes. He swallowed hard and accepted the mahogany box Arngor proffered to him. Hermione moved to his side and slid an arm around him. She thanked the goblin, then turned Harry to follow McGonagall back to Hogwarts, where they would have a _lot_ to discuss.

* * *

Neville stomped along the corridor, trying not to be too frustrated. It was a mark of the way things had changed, he told himself, that he was actually annoyed at being stood up. It was only a lunch date, but for Neville Longbottom that was quite something. It marked a veritable pole shift from his usual dates, which were usually with more of the plant variety and tended to take place out in one of the Greenhouses.

So to even be able to be stood up for a date - by an actual _witch_ \- was kind of alright, in a backwards sort of way.

Neville chuckled to himself at that and his grumpy mood evaporated. Enola, the girl he was supposed to be meeting, had probably been held up for a good reason. He wouldn't be too bitter about it, unless it turned out she'd completely changed her mind about him, which he sincerely hoped she hadn't. Aside from being goddess-level to look at, she was also fun and friendly. Neville was enjoying simply getting to know her, so he'd give her the benefit of the doubt for now.

Then he turned the corner that led to the Charms corridor, and his curiosity piqued with his anger.

For Enola was just up ahead, her hooded friend, Celesca, close by her side. But they weren't alone. A gang of girls, perhaps eight or ten, were crowding around them, their intent menacing. Neville moved close to hear what they were saying.

"So…for the last time…what's your Blood Status?"

Neville recognised Marietta Edgecombe, the _sneak_ of the DA. She seemed to be leading this little rabble, addressing Enola in a dark and nasty tone. But, to Neville's surprise, Enola seemed quite unmoved.

"My Blood Status?" Enola repeated. "It was red, the last time I checked."

Neville held in a chuckle.

"Don't be funny, _freak_ ," Pansy Parkinson chipped in.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise that counted as a joke around here," Enola returned smoothly. "If only I'd known sooner."

"Watch your mouth, you skanky bitch," Marietta snapped. "You're gonna get yourself smashed up if you carry on."

Neville sped up along the corridor, but Enola was simply laughing.

"Who's going to _smash me up_? You bunch of rug-munchers? Stick to getting your kicks from your dildos, girls, before you make a _really_ silly mistake."

Neville skidded to a halt at Enola's acidic tone, but one of the other girls lunged forwards dangerously. Before anyone could react, Celesca moved across the girl, dropped her hood, and let out a high pitched screech.

And the whole corridor erupted.

Neville felt it - whatever it was - hit him like a sonic boom. It knocked him back into the wall of the corridor, then he slumped down grabbing his ears. Deafening noise was rushing all around him, but it felt like it was exploding _inside_ his head. He shouted out against the white-hot pain, but there was no respite. He felt it pound and hammer against the inside of his skull and tears streamed from his eyes as the agony consumed him.

He rolled onto the floor and curled into a ball, wishing that death would come soon to relieve his suffering. He forced his eyes open and looked along the corridor. The gang of girls had all fallen as he had, crying out and scratching at their skulls as if trying to claw the pain out. He even saw blood oozing from Pansy's ear. Then Neville saw Enola press her hand to Celesca's chest, calming her. The screaming stopped, the pain became a dull ache…and Neville passed out from the pressure.

He woke sometime later, gasping frantically for air as if breaking the surface of water a second before drowning. He looked around in his panic, trying to get his bearings. But it was dark now, and the thrill of fear was causing his sight to swim. He lashed out and roared through his roiling fear.

"Nev…Nev! Calm down! You're alright, you're safe."

It was Enola's voice, but she sounded distant.

"Please sit back, Miss Hart, let me through." Madam Pomfrey was speaking, Neville felt her take his arm forcefully. He tried to jerk away. "Stay still, Mr Longbottom, this is just to sedate you."

But Neville broke free, diving up the bed and baring his teeth, bracing for the next attack. He couldn't explain it, but he felt unreasonably terrified.

Then Enola was at his side again. "Hush, Nev, take this. It'll make you feel better, I promise. Trust me."

There was something elixir-like about her voice, so Neville reluctantly gave in. He allowed her to ease a vial to his lips, tilting his head as the potion slid down his throat. It tasted of peppermint. Almost immediately, he began to still. His breathing evened out and his heart began to beat normally. He looked around.

He was in the Hospital Wing. All the other beds were full and had curtains drawn around them. Neville had never seen it so crammed. Enola was stood at his bedside, the empty vial in hand. The Matron was on the other side of the bed, sweeping her wand over him in a series of diagnostic spells. Then she tested his temperature with the back of her palm.

"Clammy, but cooling," she announced with a frown. "Better settle down here for the night, just to be sure."

"What happened?" asked Neville, glancing between Pomfrey and Enola. The Matron shrugged, frowned again, then marched off to check on the other patients.

"Celesca had a tantrum," Enola explained, sliding down into her seat. She looked tired. Neville registered how dark it was and realised he must have been here for _hours_. Had Enola been sat with him for much of that time? He shyly hoped she had, for it set his heart going again.

"What does that mean?" asked Neville, pushing his new hopes aside a moment.

"Cesc's power goes far beyond mere _Seeing,"_ Enola explained. "It's Cerebral Magic on an unprecedented scale. She hears thoughts, can access people's minds if she wants to. It's quite hard for her being here actually, what with all the psychic and mental energy flying around the place. She's barely sleeping at all. So when those silly bitches in the corridor tried to get rowdy, she lost her temper. And did _this_."

"But what is _this_ , exactly?"

"A direct attack on the central nervous system of anyone who heard her scream," said a woman's voice from behind the curtains of the next bed. They were pulled aside and Professor Roth, Celesca's mother, moved to join Enola at Neville's bedside. "Celesca pushed her rage along the psychic pathways of all the people she could reach, except for Enola. I doubt she even knew you were there, Mister Longbottom. Then she overloaded their systems until she was spent, herself. Luckily, she hasn't done anyone any permanent damage, so far as we can tell."

"Is…is that possible?" asked Neville, awestruck.

"Of course," replied Professor Roth, grimly. "I hope she never has to, but my Cesc could _kill_ if she angled her power to it."

"Wow. Remind me not to piss _her_ off then!" Neville breathed. "Is she alright, though?"

"Drained to the point of exhaustion, but nothing a bit of rest wont cure," Professor Roth replied. "Then she will have to accept whatever punishment I hand out to her."

"Please, Professor, don't go too hard on her," Neville pleaded. "Those girls in the corridor were being very threatening, rounding on Enola about her Blood Status. I think Celesca was only acting in self-defence."

"Be that as it may, my daughter's power cannot be allowed to escape her control," said the Professor. "She considers it a curse…but she can do nothing about it, other than keep it in check. Using it as a weapon is not acceptable…unless under the most extreme of circumstances."

Neville nodded. He understood that, and felt a new sense of pity for Celesca. All of a sudden, being a Seer didn't seem to be quite as cool as he'd previously thought.

"I must go and speak to Madam Pomfrey, to get Celesca discharged to my care," said Professor Roth. "Excuse me."

And the Professor sauntered away. She had a sway about her that Neville found oddly hypnotic.

"Thanks," said Enola, quietly. "Thanks for trying to stand up for us. That was really nice of you."

"Of course," said Neville, flushing in the dark ward. "Those girls were being nasty to you. And with everything that's going on, I think we all need to stick together."

"I wouldn't be against that," said Enola, suggestively. "I'm really annoyed that I couldn't make our date. Those bloody witches! If Cesc hadn't already made them pay, they'd have all been on my own Hit List!"

Neville chuckled at that. "Don't worry about it…there are lots more lunches to be had."

That was brave of him, he thought to himself. Enola seemed happy to agree.

"Yes there are, and I hope you'll give me the chance to make up missing one with you, as soon and as often as possible."

"I'm sure I can allow that," Neville grinned. "How about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Enola agreed. "I'd better go and get some beauty sleep, then." Neville scoffed involuntarily. "What?"

"Oh nothing, I just meant that, well… _beauty sleep_ ," Neville fumbled. "Not really something _you_ need, is it?"

Enola stood, smiling prettily. "Thank you, Neville. I think you're rather cute as well."

Then Enola leaned in and kissed Neville on the head, wishing him a goodnight as she left the ward. Neville scoffed at that - a _good_ night…this was the bloody _best_ he could remember.

* * *

The Portrait Hole opened and Hermione looked up at the sound. She wasn't the only one, but she was probably the only one who frowned at the sight she saw. Harry had entered the room looking distinctly dishevelled, his robe torn in places and he even seemed to be carrying a bit of a limp. Hermione made to get up in alarm, but Harry waved her down.

"It looks worse than it is," he grimaced as he flopped down onto the couch next to her.

"Are you hurt? What happened? Do we need to get you to the Hospital Wing?"

Hermione fired off these questions in quick succession, giving Harry little or no chance to reply. Then she scooted along the couch, flowing practically into Harry's lap, then began inspecting him critically. Hermione heard a few swoons from girls to her left, but she had no mind for them.

"What happened?" Hermione repeated, turning Harry's head to inspect a bruise behind his ear.

"My meeting with Dumbledore turned into an impromptu duelling session with him and Flitwick," Harry explained. "It was designed to illustrate to me that attacks can come at any time. Lesson learned."

Even Harry's voice seemed to ache. Hermione's heart bled at the sound, and she clenched her jaw angrily.

"How dare they!" she hissed. "That's just wrong!"

"I sort of see the point," said Harry. "If I am going to be attacked, I can't expect to be given advanced warnings about it, can I?"

"No, perhaps not," Hermione agreed, reluctantly. "But I don't want you to get so paranoid that you are on edge for attacks around every corner. You'll be so jumpy it will drive you nuts."

"It will stir me to get prepped, though," Harry pointed up. "Sharpen my skills, keep me on my toes."

"I can't say that I'm particularly thrilled with Dumbledore cursing you at will, either," said Hermione, darkly. "I don't like _that_ at all."

"I know, don't worry though," said Harry, smoothing Hermione's arm. "We will just have to tool me up. You'll help me, won't you?"

"Of course," said Hermione, relaxing a little and moving to a more suitable sitting position. "Did you hear about Neville? That was sort of scary."

"Dumbledore mentioned it," said Harry, moving his shoulder to loosen it. "Celesca knocked a bunch of girls out with her mind, or something? Now _that_ would be a useful skill."

"Mmm," Hermione agreed. "Maybe we should try to get her on our side, after all. Get Neville on the case, get him to sweet talk that Enola girl." Then Hermione looked cautiously at Harry. "Did…did you mention anything to Dumbledore about…about _that night_?"

"No," Harry replied, quietly. "I want to have a proper look at those memory crystals first. Not just the night my parents died, but far back before then."

"Why? What are you looking for?"

"All we know is that Dumbledore was in possession of my Dad's Cloak when he died," said Harry. "And we know it's a special Cloak, even if we don't know why just yet. But, if Dumbledore used it to hide in my house when my parents were murdered, we have to ask why. Why didn't he fight Voldemort? Why did he just watch? There are so many questions, Hermione, but I just have this feeling the answers are recorded in those crystals. I can't explain it, I just do."

"What are you thinking?"

"If Dumbledore _was_ under the Cloak that night, he must have watched Voldemort try to make the Horcrux with his failed attack on me. Now he's trying to destroy them…but he essentially was letting Voldemort _make_ one. That doesn't make any sense. But I think the reasons may be hidden in those crystals…something just doesn't add up."

"You sound afraid of all this," said Hermione, surprised.

"I…I suppose I am, a bit," Harry confessed. "I just don't know what I might find. But, knowing the way things usually go for me, I can't imagine that I'll like it, whatever it might be."

Hermione slid her arm around his neck. "I'm here with you, you know that, yeah? You aren't alone. Whatever is going on, we'll face it together."

"I don't deserve you," said Harry, snuggling his head into the mane of Hermione's hair.

"No, you don't, but you come as close as anyone could hope to!" Hermione teased. "Come on, lets go up to the Prefects Common Room, get you cleaned up. Maybe have a smooch if you're up to it."

"You'd have to decapitate me before I wasn't up for _that!"_ Harry grinned in reply. He got up gingerly, leaning on Hermione as he winced. She frowned as she watched, suspecting Harry wasn't being quite as truthful about his condition as he was saying. They began to cross the Common Room, but then suddenly the Portrait Hole swung open again and a gaggle of young students entered, looking fraught. Hermione led Harry to them, hitching her Prefect face on.

"What is it? What's wrong?" asked Hermione.

"Haven't you heard?" asked one frightened little girl. "It's all over the news."

"What is?" asked Harry.

"Minister Fudge has resigned, citing stress," said a Third Year boy. "And the Wizengamot has ratified an interim Government. It's all happened so fast that people think there's something sinister behind it all. Whatever it is…we're all doomed. All of us who aren't Pureborn."

"Why? Who's been put in charge?" asked Hermione, unwilling to believe the horrific possibilities of the answer.

"It is standard for the Under-secretary to assume the position of Minister, in the event of death or impeachment."

Hermione snapped around to see Ginny Weasley standing at the back of the group, grinning darkly.

" _Umbridge!_ " Harry hissed. "Merlin forbid."

"It gets worse, Harry," said Demelza Robins, emerging from the throng. "Minister Umbridge has invited the opposition to join in a coalition with her new Government, to maintain continuity. In short, she's handed a share of power to…to…to _You-Know-Who."_


	11. Miss Evans' Secret

"It's absolutely insane! It can't be real, surely!"

Harry slammed both hands on the Headmaster's desk, awaiting confirmation that this was all some huge joke.

But Dumbledore simply perused Harry over the top of his interlocked fingers.

"It is very real. And, Harry, I'd prefer it if you didn't call me _'Shirley'._ "

Fawkes squawked in response to Dumbledore's witty remark, but Harry was in no such humour.

"Shut up, Fawkes," he spat, angrily. "I don't think this is the time for silly jokes, Sir."

"There is always time for humour, Harry," said Dumbledore in his maddeningly-patient air. "Even in the darkest of times we must be able to laugh. It may be the most potent weapon we have against the forces of evil."

Harry scoffed. "I'd prefer my wand. Or a lightsaber. Or just a good, old-fashioned club."

"Really, Harry," Dumbledore chided, gently.

"Look, Sir, just explain this to me," Harry fumed. "How can this even be allowed to happen. Lord Voldemort invited into the Government…it's like letting the lunatics run the asylum!"

Dumbledore surveyed Harry again. "I think we can both agree that Dolores Umbridge is now in league with Tom Riddle. Cornelius, bless him, was always a weak-minded bureaucrat. A few well-aimed threats were probably all it took to persuade him to leave office."

"Well he's a bloody coward," Harry raged.

"Indeed?" Dumbledore quirked. "You don't think that being threatened by the greatest dark wizard of our time is reason enough to stand down?"

Harry gawked at Dumbledore. "You wouldn't simply run away at the first sign of trouble. Neither would I."

"But not all wizards are the same, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Lord Voldemort inspires a crippling fear in many among the magical population. Cornelius was an elected official, but that by no means makes him immune."

"What will happen to him?"

"I understand he intends to take a sabbatical on a Caribbean island," Dumbledore replied. "It is a trip I doubt he will ever return from."

"And so Voldemort will just walk into the Ministry. Just like that," said Harry, shaking his head in disbelief. "Something has to be done. You have to do something."

"I? What makes you think I can influence events?"

"What makes me think…" Harry scoffed. "You are the Chief Seat on the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwhump of the ICW! That's got to count for something. Or are you just as cowardly as everyone else? Probably, actually, seeing as you did nothing to stop Voldemort's return…"

"Easy now, Harry," said Dumbledore with just a hint of threat in his voice. "I may have some influence in politics, but I cannot simply walk into the Ministry and supplant a legally-appointed Minister."

"Yes you can," said Harry bluntly. "You could walk in and kill Umbridge if you wanted to."

"Are you honestly advocating murder, Harry?"

Harry fixed Dumbledore with a firm stare. "For _her_ …yes. Yes I am. She's a twisted, evil bitch. She _tortured_ me last year, look!"

Harry thrust his hand at Dumbledore. The words etched into the flesh stood out starkly, the pale scar tissue raw against the tanned skin all around it. Dumbledore's eyes widened in shock, anger bubbling so furiously within him it made the desk shake a moment.

"And I wasn't the only one," said Harry. "There were younger kids, too. She took _pleasure_ in it. She even told me and Hermione how much she hated kids. She is the worst brand of sadist, the kind of disgustingly sick witch that even your misguided belief in everyone being inherently redeemable should overlook.

"So, yeah, she should be killed. I'd do it myself if I had the chance. And, if you're so righteous, you should get rid of her now, before she gets the chance to really hurt people."

"Enough now, Harry," said Dumbledore, his irritation with Harry's brassiness unrestrained now. Oddly, Harry didn't feel quite as intimidated by it this time. He met Dumbledore's gaze with steel of his own. For a moment, the air of the room was uncomfortably taut.

"So, no-one's going to oppose this?" Harry fumed. "You know that people look to you for guidance, Sir. If you don't lead the opposition, no-one will."

"I think this may actually turn out to be in our favour, Harry. It may be a good thing."

Harry leapt up in angry disbelief. "A good thing! Voldemort in Government a _good thing!_ I can think of little worse! How can you say that, Professor?"

"Think of it this way, Harry," Dumbledore began, that infuriating air of patience returning, as if to taunt Harry's rage. "Lord Voldemort gleans a lot of his power and influence from subterfuge, from operating in the shadows, sowing fear and doubt and discord from a point unseen. But now, we know where he is. We can observe and monitor him.

"He is set to be offered the role of Chancellor. It is an important and powerful position, to be sure, as he will be responsible for the finances of Wizard Government. But he will be restrained to some extent by the politics of White City. We may be able to exert a measure of control over him."

"Control! Over Voldemort?" Harry cried. "Are you actually going senile?"

"Leave it now, Harry," said Dumbledore, firmly. "Have faith. I believe all will be well."

"But, Sir…"

"I said enough. Now go and enjoy your weekend. We may not get many more sunny days this year."

Harry stood and glowered at Dumbledore, scarcely able to believe how this meeting had gone. They were at least agreed on one thing…there were dark days ahead.

* * *

Hermione heard Harry before she saw him. She knew the timbre of that particular stomp, for it was the unique sound that promised to deliver Harry in his angriest, most ranting form.

And it didn't disappoint.

It was fully fifteen minutes before Hermione was able to get a word in, so unrelenting was Harry in his furious flow. She could barely make sense of what he was saying, jumping as he was between one shrieking tirade and the next. Hermione opened her mouth several times to speak, only for Harry to roar, _'and ANOTHER thing…'_ before ranting off in a whole new direction. Hermione even tried raising her hand like a little schoolgirl asking to go for a wee, but Harry largely ignored that ploy, too.

In the end, she had to resort to getting her way at the tip of her wand. A non-verbal Silencing Charm was just the thing.

It took Harry a whole minute to realise his voice had no volume. Hermione watched it with an amused grin on her face; it was like watching a silent movie of Angry Harry. It was fun, until he rounded on her.

He asked what she had done, but Hermione could barely make out his meaning amidst all the obscenities he was mouthing at her. She frowned crossly at him.

"I've taken your voice," said Hermione, brusquely. "Which is probably for the best. I might have had to give you a _real_ telling off if you'd said those things to me out loud."

Harry stilled, closing his jaws and trapping whatever he was about to mouth this time. He looked down reticently. He seemed suitably chastised and Hermione was happy enough with that.

"If I cancel the charm, will you promise me not to speak until I do?"

Harry gave a brief nod, his eyes still turned ashamedly to the floor. Hermione tried not to grin, but Harry looked so cute when he was being bashful it was a hard-run thing. Hermione was also sensible of how easily she had checked his mood. That was a power few could boast over such a volcanic temper. She flicked her wand and the spell fell away from Harry like a dissipating Spring mist.

"There. All done," said Hermione.

"Sorry," Harry blurted out quickly. "I shouldn't have taken out my frustrations on you. I didn't mean any of it. Not a single word."

Hermione crossed to Harry and eased his chin up with her fingers to look into his sorrowful eyes. She smiled comfortingly at him when she spoke, her voice satin-soft. "I know. But I am glad you apologised right away. Part of the job of being your girlfriend is to be in the firing line when your passions run away with you. Just try to remember that I'm always on your side."

"I know that, and I'm really sorry," Harry replied, quietly. "I just can't quite believe how retarded the world is getting. I lost my temper. I'm sorry."

"Okay. Enough apologising," said Hermione. She could tell that Harry was even more stressed than when he'd come in. She needed to relax him.

Then she had an idea. "Look, before we go over what happened with Dumbledore, I want to try something."

"Try what?" asked Harry, suspiciously.

"Just stand over there a moment," said Hermione, directing Harry to the couch on the far side of their private communal area.

Then Hermione moved to her desk. She'd been getting a start on her Ancient Runes homework and her stone set was spread out over a sheet of parchment. Hermione studied the runes for a few minutes, humming to herself and tapping her lip as she pondered the spell she wanted to cast. Eventually, she settled on seven runes and took them with her as she made her way to the middle of the room.

Once there, she drew her wand and sketched out a neat pentagram on the floor. She eased her magic into it, just as Professor Babbling had shown her. The pentagram glowed with soft light as Hermione traced away. Across the room, Harry looked on in deep fascination. Under such intimate scrutiny, Hermione felt a blush steal across her cheeks. She always did when Harry looked at her in _that_ way. It was still such a raw sensation, however, that Hermione wasn't sure what she was supposed to do with it.

So she went back to her work. She placed her rune stones around the edge of the pentagram, linking them with her magic as she formed a perfect circle. Before she completed it, Hermione beckoned Harry to her, easing him down to sit cross-legged on the floor. Then she made the final link in the circle and sat down opposite Harry. She felt a _whoosh_ of magic as the circle sealed, completely containing her and Harry within.

"Hermione…" Harry began, oddly breathless. "What is this?"

"It's just a Siphoning Circle," Hermione explained. She reached into her robe and drew out a set of crystals connected by a fine, golden chain. "I use it when I get particularly overwrought. The crystals will trap all negative emotion, and the power of the runes will infuse you with restorative energy, if you let them in."

"How do I do that?"

"Just breathe, and relax," said Hermione, gently. "Let me do the work. Let me help you."

"I'm all yours," Harry smiled. It was enough to make Hermione dissolve opposite him. That power of his was truly unfair.

Harry closed his eyes and waited. Hermione gently linked their hands - right hand to right hand, left to left, crossed over in the small gap between their laps. The crystal circlet then moved, under Hermione's whispered command, snaking over her and Harry's conjoined digits as though binding them together. The effect caused Hermione to gasp out loud.

For she could sense Harry's essence as though it were a physical thing, just at the edge of her perception. She could almost reach out and touch it. But she was mindless of what it would feel like to do so, firm in her certainty that it would be an intensely intimate experience, perhaps even overwhelming. She doubted that sex would be anything like as potent by comparison.

So she held herself at arms' length, commanding the crystals to do their thing and draw any negative energy from the circle. It kept a sort of neutral zone between her energy and Harry's, though the temptation to cross it was almost irresistible. It took all of Hermione's self control to hold herself still.

Soon enough, it became obvious to Hermione that Harry was in the throes of deep relaxation. His expression was waxed and serene, his breathing smooth and easy. Hermione smiled at that, unable to recall many times when she seen Harry so at ease. She was glad that she was able to do this for him. She pulled the soothing power from the runes, allowing it to seamlessly blend with the magic already flowing around her circle, letting it fall on and infiltrate Harry in a natural way. He groaned in contentment as it did so, as though on the end of the world's most relaxing massage.

Finally, content that she'd done her work, Hermione gently eased down on the magic in the circle, drawing it back into herself. She felt the thrill of invigoration as she did so, feeling empowered, as she always did, when the newly concentrated magic returned to her being. The effect was multiplied to an untold degree this time, though, as that energy which had been drawn from Harry settled on her, too. It left her breathless a moment, as she absorbed the potency of Harry's power. And there was just a fleck of that essence she'd tried so diligently to avoid, just on the crest of the magical wave.

And it was a good thing, Hermione thought, that she was sitting down. As the effect made her entire body tremble, and would surely have taken her knees had she been standing. She would have to do some research into that one.

Slowly, Harry came to. He inched opened his eyes, as though coming around from a trance. His eyes were sparkling, an emerald-green flame behind the lenses perched on his nose.

"That was…wow…just wow," Harry muttered. "Is that normally what that feels like?"

"Well, it was a _bit_ different, as I've never done that with anyone else before," Hermione replied.

"Promise me something, Min," Harry breathed. " _Never_ do that with anyone else. I don't think I could stand knowing some other wizard had been that close to you. I think I could deal with you sleeping with them easier than that."

Hermione looked up, startled. "You…you felt that, too?"

"Merlin yes!" Harry exclaimed. "And it was the most gorgeous thing. I could feel a sort of energy from you, but I had no idea how to touch it. But I _so_ wanted to. Is there a way to do that? Or…would that be too much? I kinda think it might be too much."

It would _definitely_ be too much, Hermione was sure of that. But she was equally as sure that she wanted nothing more than to give in to it completely. But perhaps when they had a bit of distance between themselves and other people…a few hundred miles, maybe. That might be private enough.

"I don't know that we're ready for such intimacy just yet," said Hermione. "I know we've gotten ridiculously close over the past couple of months, but this is still all so new. There are lots of boundaries we have yet to cross. Lets not rush them. We have plenty of time."

Harry smiled brilliantly at that. "Yes, you're right. All the time in the world _is_ plenty. Just so long as _Bumbledore_ doesn't screw up the future for us."

"Well the magical world certainly has stolen your future, your dreams," Hermione mused. "How dare they!"

"Don't fret about it, Min. The future isn't set in stone. We have everything before us, we have nothing before us."

"Eh?"

"Possibilities, Hermione," Harry explained. "We get to shape our future, not anyone else."

"You're right," said Hermione. "But they seem to be doing their level-best to make the world as difficult a place as possible. Is Dumbledore _really_ just going to stand by and do nothing?"

"I don't know why that surprises you," said Harry. "Dumbledore has made a career out of doing nothing. If he didn't have so many stupid middle names already, he could add _passivity_ to the list. It's his most consistent trait. This is right in keeping with how he deals with the Dark Side."

"How so?"

"He probably thinks he can _save_ Tom Riddle," Harry hissed. "That he can achieve redemption even now, after everything."

"I'm not sure I agree with that, Harry," said Hermione, doubtingly.

"Just look at the facts, Min," Harry persisted. "When they fought at the Ministry last year, Dumbledore didn't seek to kill Voldemort. I think he was just trying to subdue or trap him. I know now that had _that_ body of Tom Riddle been killed, a new one could have been forged from one of his other Horcruxes. Which got me thinking; I reckon with each split of his soul, Riddle's morality became less and less. And, lets be honest, it wasn't exactly a robust thing to start with. By the time he got down to Split Number Seven, his moral code must have been practically non-existent. He could probably claim not to be aware of the severity of his actions."

"And Dumbledore might take _pity_ on him, like he was some poor, misunderstood and damaged soul!" Hermione breathed, swinging immediately to Harry's way of thinking.

"Exactly," Harry nodded. "Just look at his track record. He's a sucker for hard luck cases. Take Hagrid, for instance. Now I love Hagrid, you know I do, but he never completed his magical education, he's half-giant and can barely speak English. Such a person shouldn't be anywhere _near_ a teaching post. He also collects dangerous animals, wantonly putting the students here in danger. Dragons? Three-headed dogs? Giant spiders… _in a school?_ I don't think he even realises how reckless that is. He doesn't have the intellect for it. He can handle them, so he thinks it's okay to give them a chance.

"Dumbledore is the same. Take Lupin, another guy I love. But he's a _werewolf,_ Hermione! Once a month, on the dot, he becomes a dangerous, feral creature. You're intelligent enough to know that the werewolf transformation starts well before the full moon. That simply completes the physical transformation. The Blood Thirst starts way before that. And there are plenty of other monthly blood lettings, from the girls here, that would have driven that scent to a fever-pitch for him. I'm amazed none of the girls here were hurt by him.

"And Dumbledore gave him a teaching job! Placed him around _children_! I love the guy, but if _we'd_ had kids here, and a letter came home telling us they were being taught by a giant and a werewolf, I'd have lost the plot. And you'd have _kicked off!_ You know you would…what?"

Harry was stopped mid-flow by Hermione's startled, glowing expression. Her heart was speeding in her chest, and Harry seemed blissfully unaware of the super-storm he had sent raging through Hermione's brain.

"It's nothing," Hermione breathed, trying to pull herself together. It was hard, as every part of her seemed to have developed a mind of it's own. "It's just that…well…what you said…"

"What did I say?" asked Harry, fretfully concerned over Hermione's change in demeanour. "Min?"

"You…you said…' _if we had kids here'_ , and ' _our home'_ ," Hermione whispered. "I suppose I didn't think you'd thought about anything like that. It caught me off guard a little."

"I…well, I haven't…haven't _you_ thought about it?" Harry scrambled. "About a family, I mean? Not necessarily with me, just in general. You come from such a loving home, I suppose I just assumed you would have."

Hermione considered Harry's words. The truth was, she _hadn't_ really thought about it. Academia and a career were more prominent in her mind. Marriage and motherhood were simply vague oddities in the equation that, till now, she'd have been happy enough taking or leaving. But here was Harry, forcing the thought into her head.

And, of course, _he'd_ want a family. A large one, probably. It seemed stupidly obvious to Hermione now, and she wondered at herself for not seeing it sooner. Harry, robbed of a family from early life, was desperate to make amends by siring one of his own. He'd make a great patriarch for sure. His children would never want for a better role-model, or a more loving father.

Question was, would _she_ want to be the mother of his family?

Of _their_ family, silly. The notion came so quickly and was so pleasantly desirable that it made Hermione light-headed a moment. Married to Harry… _children with Harry!_ It was just the loveliest thought. One for the distant future, for sure, but it caused such a fundamental shift in Hermione's own understanding of herself that she was rendered dumb for several minutes.

"Hermione?" Harry ventured, tentatively. "Did I say the wrong thing? Did I scare you? Tell me I haven't messed this up."

"What? No," said Hermione, snapping back to the moment. "No, don't be silly, Harry."

"What then?"

"Nothing, it's just that…I haven't really thought about that before," Hermione explained. "I'm the sort of girl more interested in changing the world. I suppose I've always considered the other stuff as, _'if it happens, it happens - if it doesn't, it doesn't.'_ Until you just brought it up."

"And now you're freaked out!" Harry moaned, desperately. "I have ruined it, haven't I?"

Hermione wanted to laugh at Harry's cute despair. She scooted closer to him and took his hands. "Look, now, you haven't ruined anything. You've just made me think about this in a new way, that's all. If anything, _I'm_ scared of saying too much. In case I scare the Merlin out of you!"

"How would you do that, exactly?"

"Because we haven't been going out for a week yet," said Hermione. "And to say I'd love to have children with you someday seems a bit much!"

Harry laughed at that. "Since when have we done anything by half, though? But…do you think that's something you might want to do someday…start a family?"

"Not with anyone else, but with you? You'd better believe I do! It would be just the most wonderful thing."

And with that, she leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his mouth. They broke apart, resting their foreheads together and breathing in unison, trying to absorb the enormity of their confessions.

It was just another momentous day at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

* * *

The weekend passed far too quickly for Harry's liking. He and Hermione spent much of their time circling the Great Lake, orbiting it so often they had practically become its' human satellites. It was a splendid way to pass the time, and infinitely more preferable to hanging around the school, where the constant questions about their relationship were starting to grow tiresome.

It was giving Hermione new insight into the pitfalls of Harry's celebrity, and even she was starting to find the fuss about them irksomely bothersome.

So the seclusion of the Lake and the Boathouse was a welcome relief. They hadn't been set much homework yet, but Hermione still managed to find reason to bring along two or three heavy tomes for extra study. Harry was content to just watch her read, finding the little crinkle of her brow and the sparkle of her eyes, as they flitted across the page, unaccountably attractive. It roused him so much that he marvelled at himself for never having spotted it before. Here was Hermione, in her element, where she felt most comfortable, and it warmed Harry so much that he felt he was intruding on something spiritual at he watched her.

But all too soon, classes beckoned on Monday morning. Harry was doubly irritated that he and Hermione would be separated for their first period, with Hermione going off to Arithmancy whilst Harry attended his first Alchemy class. They parted with a kiss after breakfast, Hermione heading one way and Harry making his way to the deep, subterranean chambers beneath the dungeons where this new class was held.

The room was dimly lit, with small candles in roughly-hewn metal brackets casting insufficient light around the circular chamber. Harry, whose eyesight was pretty pathetic as it was, had to squint just to write his name legibly on his parchment. There were only twelve students in the class; Harry noticed most of them were from Ravenclaw, including Celesca Roth, who Harry thought must be sweltering with her heavy hood up. Harry was, in fact, the only Gryffindor here and he felt oddly isolated as he realised it.

He didn't have much time to dwell, however, as the Professor entered the chamber and closed the door with a crunching _clunk_. Harry was hit with a sense of mild claustrophobia, as though hermetically-sealed in the room. His senses heightened at the sensation and he fidgeted in his seat at the back of the room.

"Good morning, class," said the Professor. "Welcome to NEWT Six Alchemy. My name is Professor Lyndy Abraham and for the next two years I will be your guide on the fascinating journey through magic's most illustrious subject. This is Our Art, Our Work, and quite simply the most powerful branch of magic there is."

The class, Harry included, were suddenly taut with attention. Professor Abraham spoke with the sort of reverence that Snape talked about Potions, although she seemed less of a greasy, hook-nosed traitor than that most hated of wizards over in Dungeon Number Three.

"This is a foundation course, an introduction to the principle of this, Our _Magnum Opus,"_ Professor Abraham went on. "So…what do we know about the Alchemical Process and its goals?"

Daphne Greengrass, a Slytherin Harry recognised, raised her hand. "It turns any base metal into gold."

"Very good," Professor Abraham beamed. "The most _material_ goal of the Process, but one sought after by many. What else?"

"It creates the Elixir of Life," Hannah Abbot piped up from the front row. "Which cures any illness."

"Very good, five points to Hufflepuff," said Professor Abraham. "And the last one? The object someone sat at the back of this very classroom has handled?"

Heads began to turn in Harry's direction and he felt heat rush to his cheeks. For the first time, he was glad it was dark. He decided he ought to answer, lest he seem totally dumb in the eyes of the new Professor. Besides, he doubted Hermione would approve of having a dunderhead for a boyfriend.

"It creates the Philosopher's Stone, which confers immortality to the one who possesses it," said Harry.

"Precisely, Mr Potter," the Professor beamed. "Take five points. As one of the few people to ever _see_ a Philosopher's Stone, perhaps you could describe it to the class?"

Harry nodded. He could do that, even though all the students turned in their seats to listen, rapt, to his story . "It's a lot smaller than you'd think," Harry began. "I could enclose in completely in my hand, and I was only eleven when all that happened. And all the stuff we read about it called it a _Red Stone_ , like a ruby. But it was a sort of reddish-purple, really."

"Indeed, as it should be," said Professor Abraham. "It was a definition first applied by Nicolas Flamel. He gives a fuller description of the Stone on page 26 of the source textbook, and I would like you all to summarise that passage as homework for the next lesson, focusing on specific uses for the Stone and Elixir…including examples…"

The class was fascinating. Harry was so completely absorbed he barely noticed the hour and a half fly by. There was a lot to take in, would be a lot to learn, but Harry was eager to get started. By the end of the class, he'd taken so many notes that his fingers were burning from the constant scribbling of his quill.

As the bell sounded for the end of the class, Professor Abraham raised her wand and increased the power of the candles by a matter of degrees. The class groaned en masse at the sudden shock of brightness, after spending ninety minutes in subdued twilight. Harry rubbed his eyes and began to pack his things into his satchel.

That's when he saw it.

It was something he almost missed, and he'd never have noticed it in the pervading darkness. But there, etched deeply into the wood of his desk, bold and brassy and dead centre, an enamoured student had carved something for posterity. And Harry was mesmerised by it.

_Lily E. & James P. 4ever_

The etching was surrounded by a big heart, with a trail of _xxx's_ just beneath it. Harry felt his heart collide with his ribs as he stood and stared at it. _Mum…and Dad_ , he thought in abject wonder. His mother had taken this class…must have sat at this desk. Harry shivered. He felt like his parents were talking to him, across life, death and a generation.

"Mr Potter?"

Harry was stirred from his reverie by Professor Abraham as she came up to his desk.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," she added.

"That's not a million miles away," said Harry. He pointed at the etching. "That's…that's my Mum and Dad. One of my parents did that. What are the chances I'd end up sitting here?"

"Chance, coincidence and serendipity are all studied in depth at the Department of Mysteries," the Professor smiled. "But I'm afraid I don't have that sort of insight. Though I _do_ know that your mother excelled in this class during her time here."

"You do? How?"

"As Professor, it is important to know the history of my subject," said Professor Abraham. "To know typical pass rates, record scores, that sort of thing. These are the sorts of metrics us teachers are judged on. As such, I know that Lily Evans holds the highest NEWT pass score, having posted in the 93rd percentile when she was here. To score so highly is extremely provocative, suggesting she may have been very close to creating at least the Elixir of Life. She could convert lead to gold, for sure, as she demonstrated the feat in her practical exam."

Harry just stared open-mouthed at the Professor. His Mum…could create _gold_? That might certainly explain a few things, accounting for the vast deposits of it stored in his vaults at Gringotts. This was a day full of wonders.

"I never knew that," said Harry, somewhat reverently. "Most of my past is something of a mystery, to be honest."

"And now you are studying Alchemy, which is full of mysteries of its own. Your mother would have been very familiar with them. Indeed, it has been suggested that to get so far advanced she must have had a secret workshop, buried somewhere deep within the school. Despite extensive searches, such a Cell has never been found. But enough about myths, how did you find the first class?"

"Amazing, absolutely fascinating," Harry beamed. "I wasn't sure what to expect, but it was really good. I'm actually looking forward to the next lesson. Which is _very_ weird for me!"

The Professor laughed. "I have to confess, Mr Potter, I was delighted when I saw my class roster with your name on it. You are one of a select band of wizards to have ever _seen_ a Philosopher's Stone, let alone to have touched one. I will be fascinated to hear about your experience with it, and how its residual effect has manifested in you."

Harry looked puzzled. "Residual effect?"

"Handling an artefact of such power will leave an imprint, Mr Potter," Professor Abraham explained. "Perhaps it has not come out yet, or else may be been misinterpreted. This is something we can explore over the coming months."

"Would it be a good or bad thing?" asked Harry, mildly concerned at the revelation.

"As there are good and bad people, the manifestation could be good or bad. It is impossible to say. But, as you have demonstrated on multiple occasions in the past, you are an inherently good person. So the effect, whatever it might be, can be reasonably expected to be positive. I wouldn't be concerned about it."

Harry wasn't quite so convinced and as he left the classroom he found he had far more to think about than his first batch of homework.


	12. A Matter of Letters

The first weeks of the new school year were always typically chaotic, and this incarnation didn't prove to be any different, despite the obvious changes in the wider world. There were new students getting used to the surroundings and separation from their parents (which seemed to demand most of Hermione's Prefect time), adjusting to new schedules, the first piles of homework to tackle, try-out applications for Quidditch and Gobstones teams, the rabid recruitment of students to the various societies of the student body, and the exciting prospects of Hogsmeade Weekends and the annual Halloween Ball for the older students to get into a flap about.

In such manic style did Harry watch the first fortnight of September fly by.

And with each passing day, his anxiety grew. For Hermione's birthday was just on the horizon, and Harry was eager to make it memorable, being, as it was, the first birthday for either of them as a couple. That fact, at least, was starting to be less and less the topic of hallway gossip. It was now a common sight for Harry and Hermione to be locked together, holding hands or arms, or sat so close that you couldn't fit a spell between them.

They had even cuddled up on the battered old couch of the Gryffindor Common Room once or twice. Harry wasn't keen to start with, but Hermione insisted, confessing to Harry that she'd often fantasised about doing just that. Just to be sat there, snuggled naturally together, broadcasting to the world that they belonged to each other. It wasn't quite as intimate as the couch in their private, Prefects communal area, and Harry had to be mindful of where his hands roamed when down here, but he wasn't about to complain.

For any chance to simply hold Hermione to him was one never to be missed.

It was a pity, Harry thought ruefully, that hugs weren't quite good enough as a potential birthday present. They were _expected_ now. Hermione would be upset if Harry _didn't_ hug her five, six, fifty times a day. And Harry had no intention of ever upsetting Hermione. Besides, he _really_ liked hugging his girlfriend. He just wished he knew something that _she_ would really like, so he could run out and buy it for her.

Not that Harry had any notion of Hermione as materialistic, which sort of made it worse. It would be easier if she _were_ , then Harry could just throw a bunch of Galleons at her and be done with it. But then, he reasoned, he pretty much already had, by making her co-trustee of his family vaults. And she hadn't spent any of it yet, so far as he knew.

So Harry was forced to abandon his usual, basic ideas of gift buying and try to think a little more creatively. Hermione would most likely be impressed by a thoughtful gift with a deeper meaning. Harry's problem was that he was rubbish at coming up with possibilities for such things.

And he had no-one to discuss them with. Ron would have been zero help in such matters, had they been speaking. Ironically, Harry would have turned to Hermione for advice, but it seemed slightly churlish for her to direct Harry towards her own birthday present. Or maybe that was exactly what Harry should do. Maybe it was a progressive idea…or maybe Hermione would think him a thoughtless troll for even suggesting it.

In such an air of confusion did Harry spend a considerable amount of his time. This, combined with school and the general silence coming from the Government offices in White City, was enough to make Harry almost forget that negative forces were afoot in the world. He could almost convince himself that nothing had changed.

But changed it had. And when the reality hit, it hit hard.

Wednesday afternoon saw Harry with a free period. Hermione was down in the Herbology greenhouses with Neville and Seamus as chaperones against Ron, so Harry agreed to sit with Enola Hart in the Common Room, as reciprocal payment to Neville. It seemed only fair.

After all, if Neville was looking after Harry's girlfriend, it was the least Harry could do to look after _his_.

And it was a fascinating hour they spent together. Harry and Enola began by practising the new Charm they had been set to master by Flitwick - the Disillusionment Charm - and they made good progress. Harry showed Enola the Disillusioned Wand Holster he wore, that Hermione had bought for his birthday, but that got him back to stressing about her present, so he insisted on changing the subject.

Which Enola provided the perfect reason for moments later. For she suddenly started _glowing._

That was to say, _something_ started glowing. A lime green light began pulsing from within her robes, as she and Harry were discussing Quidditch. Harry stared at it curiously.

"What is… _that_?" he asked, cautiously.

"What's _what_?" Enola asked.

"That light."

"What…oh, that's my Compact."

Enola reached into the pocket of her robes and drew out a circular object that looked like it should have been in her pampering kit. Apart from the fact that this lime green strobe was running around its' rim. She flicked it open and muttered to herself as if she were reading something. Then she grinned.

"What is it?" Harry queried.

"It's just Cesc," Enola replied. "Her class is boring her."

"No…what's _that_ ," Harry pushed. "In your hand."

"Oh, of course, silly me," said Enola, rising excitedly to her knees. "You've never seen one of these, I'm guessing. This is my Personal Communication Unit, or PCU. But we call it a _Compact_ , after my father's company, which makes them. He does contracts for magical law enforcement agencies across Europe, developing tools for their profession."

"Wow," said Harry. "What does it do?"

"Well, if anyone else picked it up, it would just look like a normal piece for a make-up kit," said Enola. "You would just see a little mirror and some powder blusher, or something. But it has a built-in feature to recognise my magical signature, and respond to it. The mirror then becomes a two-way type, so I can talk face-to-face with someone, while the powder section becomes a piece of parchment and quill, resized to fit there.

"Do you see around the edge? There are letters? Well, if I press a letter, the tiny quill writes it onto the parchment. Then, as long as I'm in range of a fireplace, I can send it as a message via the Floo Network. Nifty, eh?"

"Wow…that's…that would be _really_ useful," Harry nodded. "And how come you have one?"

"My Dad gave me a couple, so I could communicate with Celesca," Enola explained. "Cesc and I were pretty sure we'd be separated once we got here, so this way we can keep in touch. The light flashes and it heats up when she sends a message or wants to speak to me through the mirror.

"And now she's telling me how she's bored in her Healing Class. They are working on foundation Mental Warding, but Cesc is already mentally warded to within an inch of her pretty little mind. Not that it does much good."

"Does she really suffer then?"

Enola nodded sadly. "It's agony for her here, poor lamb. All the psychic energy flying around…it's not easy to get through the day. The hood on her robe is covered in protection runes, every strand of material spelled to block psychic signals, but nothing is really totally effective against that, and requires insane concentration to keep up. Which tires the poor girl out. Besides, nothing has ever been discovered that can block her Seer visions. She says it's like having a constant headache that she hasn't been able to ease for years."

Harry winced at the idea. "Poor thing. And there was me thinking being a Seer would be quite cool."

"It was, when we were kids," Enola reminisced. "We used to have great fun with it. We had a set of flash cards with pictures on them, and Cesc had to guess the picture. She never got one wrong. Then she'd confuse the hell out of the adults, by answering questions they were only _thinking_ about asking. And she's terrible when it comes to games. Hide and Seek, Battleships, Charades…never play with her, unless she's on your team, because she's a chronic cheat. She knows what you're thinking or are going to do.

"Then it got bad when she was about twelve. When she had her first period. The rush of hormones set her ability on fire, literally. She ran through her house screaming that her brain was burning. The hormones and her Seer stuff do _not_ mesh. Even now, when her monthly cycle comes around, she has to be taken somewhere private. Some of the kids in our coven even thought she was a werewolf, because she kept vanishing every month.

"It's not just the screaming, either. Her ability _manifests_. It's knocked people out, broken things…she even set fire to a house when she knocked over a set of candles once. She has to be taken away by her Mum for _everyone else's_ safety."

"Sweet Merlin!" Harry exclaimed. "How does she cope with that?"

"Deep, constant meditation and the sort of self-control I can't even conceptualise," said Enola.

Just then, the Portrait Hole swung open and Hermione entered with Neville and Seamus in tow. Her expression was drawn and pale. Harry was alert in a flash.

"What is it?" He asked, as Hermione flopped down beside him.

Hermione exchanged dark looks with Seamus.

"What?" Harry pressed. "Are you alright? Has something happened? Ron didn't…"

"No, Ron didn't do anything," Hermione replied quickly, keen to dispel Harry's rising anger on that most provocative of subjects. "It's just something Seamus was telling us about."

"Shay?" Harry asked. "What is it, mate?"

Seamus turned his eyes to Harry, who noticed deep bags beneath them. Having moved dorms, Harry wouldn't have known that Seamus was having trouble sleeping.

"I had a letter from me Mam last week," Seamus, replied. "She works for the Ministry, doing admin for Magical Businesses that have to register with the Trade Department. She got called into a meeting last week…it was about me Dad."

Harry felt an icy tingle flow along his spine. Seamus' Dad, Harry remembered, was a Muggle. Under the new Government, that might not be the safest thing.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"She was questioned about him for three hours," Seamus explained. "They wanted to know how they met, what me Dad did, how a witch came to marry a Muggle, all sorts of personal stuff. Then they gave her this massive form to fill out, so she could _register_ him. She's terrified now that they're being watched, scared for me Dad 'cause he'd be defenceless against a magical attack."

"There's more," Hermione said, taking over as Seamus was on the verge of breaking down with emotion. "There was a piece in _The_ _Prophet_ that said the Ministry has started a new _Suspicious Activity Reporting_ programme. That magicals are being encouraged to report any activity they think might be against the regime."

"What counts as being suspicious?" Harry riled, his anger flaring.

"Photography, recording magical memory, taking measurements," Hermione began. "Muggles unaccompanied on Diagon Alley, Muggleborns and half-bloods attending meetings. Even expressing alternate or extreme views."

"And who, exactly, are the people collecting this information?" Enola asked.

"A new body has been set-up," Neville replied. "My Gran said there's a Bill going through the Wizengamot that will grant them judicial powers, like the Aurors and MLE have. They have a distinctive slate-grey uniform robe, so people have dubbed them the _Grey-Robes,_ or GR. They are recruiting for members, though my Gran thinks some people have already been forced into it."

"What makes her think that?"

"Just the way the numbers have swelled," said Neville. "Over fifty have signed up already. This isn't something that's just happened. It was probably in the works for ages. You, er, only have to look at who has been put in charge of it."

Neville and Hermione exchanged guilty looks, as though both knew they should have told Harry this already. It didn't improve his mood.

"Who is it? Who's in charge?" Harry riled.

"Percival Weasley," said Neville, quietly.

Harry's cursing response had far more volume.

"You are _kidding_ me!" Harry fumed. "Percy Weasley is the Chief of this?"

Neville nodded solemnly. "Yep. And…they've been blamed for a couple of disappearances already."

"Who?" asked Harry.

"Ministry employees, mostly," said Hermione. "That was in the paper, too, but not very deeply reported. No-one high profile has gone missing, but they are key people. The Head of the Department of Magical Transportation, the Health Minister responsible for St Mungo's. People within the infrastructure. Whatever Voldemort's plans are it looks like he intends to dominate all aspects of social life."

"That's _definitely_ true," said Seamus, darkly. All heads turned to him. "Mam…at her meeting…she was given another form. One about _me_. It was an invite to join something called the _YEWS_ \- Young English Wizard's Society. I don't know much about it, but apparently membership is going to be compulsory. Even though I'm Irish, I was invited 'cause Mam was born in Manchester. There's a group for girls, too - The British League of Witches. Merlin knows what they're going to be for, but Mam reckons its going to be a big deal. And not in a good way."

"What makes her think that?" asked Neville.

"She didn't say," Seamus replied. "But she told me to make sure my trunk stays packed. I don't reckon we'll be staying in this country for very long, not with all these changes going on. Me Mam's a fierce witch; if she's going to disappear, it'll be on her own terms. So don't think bad of me if I'm just gone one night without saying goodbye."

Seamus let his words hang in the air, settling the horror on all of them. Harry blinked as he tried to come to terms with this visceral, dark new reality. How far would all this go…and could _anything_ be done to stop it?"

* * *

Harry spent the next few days on edge. He had taken to scanning Hermione's edition of _The Daily Prophet_ every day to try and decipher Voldemort's intent from the news stories he found there. But even this became fruitless, when Hermione pointed out that the magical newspaper didn't have the best track record when it came to reporting unbiased truth, and was likely to be even worse now it was in the hands of the Death Eater Party.

But Harry had another worry on his mind, though it was rendered comically insignificant by comparison. Gryffindor Quidditch try outs were scheduled for Saturday afternoon and Captain Ron had posted up a note saying every position was up for scrutiny, and even past members would have to re-try for their spot on the team.

"This is all about you, Harry," Katie Bell offered with a mutinous little frown. "Ron just wants you off the team, but he has to find a way to justify it to McGonagall. So we all try out."

"Sorry," Harry offered.

"Don't you be sorry on his childish account," Hermione snapped. "He's just a Pygmy Puff - pathetic and pointless."

"Here, here," Katie agreed. She looked at Hermione with something bordering trepidation "I wasn't haven't a go, Harry - not at you. I blame Ron for this."

"Don't," said Harry. "You're wasting your anger on him. There are far bigger things in the world to be upset about. Besides, you're our best and most experienced Chaser. You'll be on the team without doubt."

"I just hope you are, too," said Katie. "If we have Ginny Weasley as Seeker again this year… _steamrollered_ in that last match against Ravenclaw. I had to go on a date with Roger Davies for that, as a forfeit. I couldn't get the taste of Cho Chang out of my mouth for weeks…"

Saturday arrived and Hermione seemed in a particularly militant mood. She was convinced that Ron or Ginny, or a combination of both, were planning to maim Harry through a convoluted strategy involving potions, hexes, tampered brooms and more Wronski Feints than had ever been performed. Even by Mr Wronski.

So that afternoon saw, perhaps, one of the most bizarre sights ever recorded in the history of Hogwarts' internal Pensieve - Hermione Granger attending Quidditch try-outs. The Slytherin's - who had held their own fly-outs in the morning session - stared open-mouthed as Hermione passed with a broom in hand. It was, in fact, Harry's Firebolt and Hermione was simply conducting last minute spell tests to ensure it was safe for flight.

"Now don't turn too sharply to the left," she was saying as they neared the pitch. "The tail-twigs are out by an eighth of an inch. It will effect your torque resistance. Perhaps we should call off the trial, just so we can fix it."

"Hermione…" Harry frowned.

"And don't forget to hold your neck steady on fast, steep dives," Hermione went on, wringing her hands and missing Harry's words completely. "If you cock you head and the wind changes…you'll be stuck that way."

"Min, please," Harry chuckled. "I've done this before, you know."

"And if Ginny or Ron come anywhere near you, cast a Shield Charm," Hermione went on, getting rather frantic now. "I overheard Ron saying he's going to use a Confundus Charm on McLaggen, just so he doesn't lose the Keepers Jersey to him…"

"Hermione! Stop!" said Harry firmly, turning Hermione bodily to face him. "It's going to be fine. There are thirty other Gryffindors here for the trials, as well as Madam Hooch. Do you really think Ron or Ginny will be thick enough to try anything against me in front of them? I'm Harry bleedin' Potter! Seeker extraordinaire. Besides, I'll have you in the stands to protect me. How much more safer could I be?"

"I don't know…perhaps a lot safer. Look."

Harry looked first at Hermione's face, which had gone from flushed to ashen white faster than a set of traffic lights. He followed her line of sight, just in time to see Ron manhandling someone into the changing rooms. Without really thinking about why, Harry hurried off to investigate, Hermione hot on his heels. They reached the doors and came to a sudden halt, listening to the animated voices arguing inside.

"What the hell…what the…what the… _WHAT IN THE NAME OF MERLIN ARE YOU WEARING!"_

It was Ron, sounding angrier than Harry had ever heard him. He exchanged perplexed looks with Hermione, who simply shrugged back.

"Get off me, Ron! Get your hands off me!"

It was Ginny, equally as angry as her brother.

"I will not," said Ron. "Not until I've ripped that filthy…that disgusting…Gin - what have you done?"

"Don't ' _Gin'_ me!" Ginny snarled. "I've done exactly what I wanted to do. What Mum and Dad wanted me to. They'll be so proud when they see me in this."

Harry, unable to resist a second longer, peered around the door frame. What he saw stirred a tide of revulsion from way down in the pit of his gut. For there was Ginny, dressed in new robes. Not her Quidditch outfit, these were of a different sort.

A _slate-grey_ sort of different.

Harry fell back against the wall of the changing rooms, trying to contain a surge of volcanic hatred which had risen for Ginny. It was as if there were a feral monster in his chest, one that desired nothing more than to break free and rip and her, tear at her…

But the Weasley's were arguing again.

"Mum and Dad would not want to see you in _that_!" Ron hissed. "It's an outrage!"

"Mum sent me the form, herself," Ginny returned, silkily. "I am proud member Number 404 of the British League of Witches. I'm an elite now, Ron. Where's your application for the _YEWS_? I know Mum sent it to you. She told me so."

"I threw it in the Common Room fire as soon as I read it!" Ron yelled. "It's absolute dragon-shite. Pureblood mania cloaked in Boy Scout fun! No thanks."

"What is wrong with you?" Ginny hissed. " _Pureblood mania?_ That's our _race_ you're talking about, you Blood Traitor! I'd have thought you would jump at the chance to get revenge on that Mudblood whore who dumped you for Harry!"

At that moment, Hermione placed both hands firmly on Harry's chest, forcing him back to the wall. It was a good thing, too, or Ginny Weasley might already be on the way to St Mungo's in a box.

"Shut up about Hermione!" Ron replied, his voice low and dangerous.

"Aww, is ickle Ronniekins still all cut up about the Mudblood who broke his ickle heart?" Ginny teased in a sinister, baby-voice.

"She didn't break my heart, you dumb twat," Ron scythed. "I _never_ liked Hermione like that. Not really. I could tell last year she was chasing Harry, but he was so hormoned-up over Chang that he didn't notice. I wanted to slap him for ignoring Hermione so blatantly. She deserves him. I don't know if he's worthy of her, but that's not my choice to make."

"What ogre-bollocks are you spouting now?" asked Ginny, clearly rattled.

"Harry is as thick as a corned beef sandwich when it comes to girls," Ron went on. "But he's always liked Hermione more than any other girl. And he always will. I don't have to tell _you_ that - it's the reason you gave up on him. You said yourself no girl would ever get as close to Harry as Hermione is. That's why _you_ can't stand her.

"But she's one of my best friends. Or she used to be. I thought if I tried chatting her up it might put Harry onto the fact that he likes her, as it would be a rival romantic interest in her. But that didn't work, 'cause he's as dense as the Forbidden Forest. So I got a bit inappropriate, hoping Harry would come to Hermione's rescue. That tipped him over the edge; he got defensive of her, like he always does, and then he saw what the rest of us have known for years.

"And now look at them. Joined at the hip. Mum and Dad aren't nearly as intimate as Harry and Hermione are. Maybe I convinced myself that I _did_ like Hermione a bit during all that, but I don't. Not really, not like that. She's not my type, we have nothing in common, and she is Harry's girl through and through. I lost my two best friends out of it, because I'm an idiot myself, but revenge is the last thing I want. So what's _your_ excuse?"

"Merlin, Ron, you _are_ an idiot," Ginny swore. "To even _think_ something like that would work."

"Well, it did…in a roundabout sort of way."

"Yeah, and the most illustrious young wizard in Britain is now between the legs of the biggest, jumped up, most presumptuous, Muggleborn Mudblood whore in the country. All thanks to…"

But Ginny didn't finish her sentence, for Ron had slapped her hard in the face.

The sound echoed in the quiet air. Harry and Hermione looked at each other, hardly daring to draw breath.

"Not another word, Ginevra," said Ron, lowly. "I'll be Flooing Mum and Dad just as soon as these try-outs are over. Don't bother picking up your broom. I wouldn't have you on my team for all the gold in Gringotts. You disgust me."

At that point Harry and Hermione hurried away, before Ron's encroaching footsteps caught them at their eavesdropping.

* * *

The next week saw tensions rise around Hogwarts. For it soon became clear that Ginny Weasley wasn't the only recruit to the League of Witches, or that every wizard had followed Ron and Seamus by refusing membership to the Young Wizards Society. Grey robes popped up around Hogwarts, and with each new addition the antagonism seemed to deepen. There had been several scuffles between the rival factions in the corridors, followed by the inevitable reprisals, which landed more than one student under the care of Madam Pomfrey.

As it was, the strained atmosphere had given Harry an idea for Hermione's birthday present. It was a mild silver lining and at least promised some respite from the school, which was turning into something of a chaffing world.

"Wow, Harry! Tickets to the _Weird Sisters_!" Hermione beamed as she opened the birthday card Harry gave her. "How did you know I liked them?"

"I remember you at the Yule Ball," said Harry, somewhat shyly. "And I noticed you had a shirt of theirs when I was at your house over the Summer."

Hermione's eyes flashed naughtily. "You…you weren't going through my linen basket, rifling through my knickers when I wasn't looking, were you, Harry?"

Her inference was so sexy it made Harry shiver deliciously.

"No…no, not that," Harry stumbled, trying to make his teenage brain not hitch on the idea of _missed opportunity_. "I just noticed it in a pile of washing your mum had done. I didn't think you liked them that much. Their music is very _loud_."

"Exactly, it's a good chance to get some release," said Hermione. "You should know by now that I'm wound tighter than a spiral galaxy most of the time. And their singer is a girl. _Witch Power_ and all that. The First Enchantress of Magical Rock. What's not to love?"

"Well, we have two tickets," said Harry. "VIP treatment, too. A week Saturday at the Diagon Palladium. I've already cleared it with McGonagall, who got permission from your parents. I thought we could make a day of it, go out around Muggle London or something. There are museums, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, loads of things. I really like the Tube, too. Just thought it might be nicer than a book…"

Harry looked carefully up, hoping his present was acceptable. Hermione was beaming at him. She took his head in both her hands and kissed him deeply, right there in the middle of the Great Hall.

"I _love_ it!" she whispered, as they broke apart. "I can't wait!"

"Before you go anywhere, you're going to need this."

Harry felt anger bubble up like a geyser under his skin. For the dirty voice of Ginny Weasley was just above them. She was carrying a box under her arm, and handing out small packages along the table. Harry had largely ignored her, but now she was thrusting something under Hermione's nose.

"What is that?" Harry snarled.

"Oh…just a little _birthday_ present," Ginny remarked acidly. "Open it…I want to explain its meaning in person."

Harry turned to Hermione, who had slid something from the small parchment package Ginny had given her. Colour drained from her face in an instant.

"Oh. Oh my…" she breathed.

"What is it?"

"Look for yourself," said Hermione.

She handed Harry the _present_. It was an armband, bright yellow, with a large red letter 'M' embroidered onto it. Harry looked up, confused.

"What in the name of Merlin is this?" he demanded.

"This, dear Harry," Ginny crooned. "Is part of the new Person Classification System. It has been decided that society is simply too fractured; we need a better method of identification. This is the first step. Those magicals who don't have a witch and wizard as _both_ parents need to justify their claim to magic. The 'M' you see means _Muggleborn_ …although I can think of a more apt word beginning with 'M'…

"There will be Ministry-conducted interviews here at Hogwarts over the coming months, with all students of questionable lineage. Your parents will be required to report to Ministry-approved locations for similar questioning. If they cannot attend, arrangements can be made to _bring them in_."

Harry was gripping the bench so hard his knuckles were turning white. He was struggling to contain his magic, which he could feel straining to burst out, such was his fury.

"And if I can't prove my lineage?" Hermione asked, unable to keep a tremble from her voice, something Ginny grinned cruelly at.

"Then you will have your wand snapped and be sent to one of a dozen special _Re-Education Centres_ that are being set up. There you will be purged of all magical knowledge and prepared for a return to Muggle life where, frankly, people like you belong."

And with that, Harry snapped. Seven coffee cups and several plates shattered on the table next to him. He was on his feet before Hermione could stop him, his wand out and at Ginny's throat. His malicious intent was so furious that Ginny was too frightened to even step back. It took the timely arrival of Professor McGonagall to stop Harry from gutting Ginny right there and then.

McGonagall ushered Ginny away, then turned to Hermione. "Miss Granger, if you will come with me."

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked, getting to her feet.

"I think we'd better get Mister Potter out of here before he brings the place down, don't you?"

And with that, Harry allowed himself to be steered away from the Great Hall, to somewhere private where his rage might explode in safety.

* * *

It was dark by the time Harry felt master of himself. Hermione and McGonagall had been joined by Remus Lupin, who happened to be passing just as Harry was being ushered up to the Room of Requirement. It was required to put Harry in a place where his magic could be released without destroying the castle and the students within. The go-to solution provided the perfect place, erected wards that fed directly off Harry's own power. It went around in a cycle until Harry was physically exhausted and could vent no more.

So he napped for a while. In that time, Hermione filled in McGonagall and Lupin regarding Ginny's threats. They listened on aghast, gasping in all the right places, then sitting in pensive silence for the longest time as they absorbed this new information.

Hermione, for her part, was terrified. Not for herself, but for her poor parents. They had done nothing wrong, except having her as a baby. She had been born different, special, but she had no idea where that had come from. She wasn't aware of any magical ancestry, had no way to prove it, and was singularly convinced that Ginny Weasley wouldn't rest until she'd snapped her wand personally.

"I am concerned, indeed," said McGonagall. "Concerned, shocked…"

"Did Dumbledore give no hint of this?" asked Lupin.

"Remus, I rather think the Headmaster is being circumvented in this case," said McGonagall. "He was told, in no uncertain terms, that he was to accept these _Grey Robes_ , into the school, ahead of an amendment to the Uniform Policy, which Head School Governor Lucius Malfoy is due to personally rubber-stamp in the next few weeks. I imagine he was told to conform with this, too."

"But it's so discriminatory, Professor!" Hermione whined. "I feel like I'm being _branded_. Just because of my blood type!"

"Join the club," said Lupin, wryly. "I can only hope your stigma doesn't marginalise you as much as mine."

"They're going to snap my wand! Take away my magic!"

"Not if I have anything to say about it," said McGonagall, stoutly. "You are the girlfriend of Harry Potter, legally recognised as his Consort by the goblins, and by me, his Regent. That will have significant standing, no matter what Ginny Weasley or anyone else has to say about it."

Hermione smiled weakly by way of thanks. Then she frowned again. "But what about my parents…and what about all the other Muggle parents…and Muggleborns…and half-bloods…"

"Miss Granger, slow down," said McGonagall. "I don't know if we have the resources to save everybody."

"I wont stand by and be singled out for saving and watch everyone else burn!" Hermione fumed. "And Harry wont either!"

"Hermione, we have to be realistic here," said Lupin. "There may not be a way to save everyone. The Ministry is collecting registration records on everyone already. If they clamp down on so-called _undesirables_ , what can we do?"

"What we need is an escape route," said McGonagall. "A way to spirit people away if they want to go."

"Like a _Ratway,_ " Hermione cried, her eyes lighting up.

"A _what_?" asked Lupin.

"It's a sort of conduit," Hermione explained. "I read about it in the advanced textbook I have for Muggle Studies. They used something similar to help people escape lands in the grip of tyranny or oppression. They are designed to facilitate a stealthy escape - they transport people in secret, provide them with new identities and documentation, then help them to reach a safe place away from danger.

" _We_ could do the same! We could set up an underground network; magicals who wish to escape could come to us, and we'd help them get out of Britain to Europe or the Americas. The Order of the Phoenix members would help, surely."

"You know, that's not a wholly wild idea," said Lupin, a sly grin on his face. He was suddenly alive with fervour, the sort of energy only a person with purpose is ever infused with. "What we'd need would be a master document forger, and a safe location as a transit point.

"What about Luna Lovegood? Her father runs _The Quibbler,"_ Hermione suggested. "He could help. I know Luna would."

"And what of the transit location? Not to mention the vast sums of gold this would take to finance," said McGonagall fairly. "Where would be find that level of resource?"

"My vault, at Gringotts," said Hermione, quietly. "Harry _did_ say I could use the gold for whatever I wanted…"

"And he meant every word. You can use every Galleon in _our_ vault if needs be…and our land in Wales will be the safehouse."

Harry had woken, when Hermione didn't know, but he'd clearly heard enough. He met her blazing look with a powerful one of his own. Hermione was hit with such a fierce wave of love for him in that moment that it almost bowled her over. But she checked herself…for something equally as Earth-shattering had just occurred to her.

For had she really felt that…the ' _L'_ word? She couldn't deny it, now that it was lodged in her brain, in her heart. She'd never known any truth more profound than that one just then. And, which stunned her even more, Harry mirrored her burning emotion in his own gaze. They were united, as one, determined to fight this darkness together, in any way they could.

Team Potter was born.


	13. Dark Scars Never Heal

Hermione reached over and tapped the little ceramic cuckoo on the head, ceasing its incessant chirupping at a stroke. The transfigured alarm clock, which had been strutting its iridescent feathers around the bedside table for the past ten seconds, threw Hermione an admonishing look, clucked its beak moodily, then skulked off to preen itself in the first shafts of light of the new day.

Hermione yawned and stretched, star-fishing as far as her arms and legs would reach, which admittedly wasn't very much. She was no-ones idea of _leggy_. The stretch was exuberant, a little too much so, as she was hit by a sharp, burning pain across her chest.

"Ow!" she winced, tenderly rubbing at the neck of her nightgown.

Grumpily, she pulled herself from bed and yanked her nightie over her head. From the top drawer of her table, she fished out a jar of salve and made her way to the full-length mirror near her wardrobe. Her naked reflection stared back at her. There, running from her left shoulder to the middle of her breastbone, an angry, deep purple scar stood stark against her pale skin.

"I don't think that will ever fully heal," said the mirror, as Hermione began gently applying the gloopy, greyish paste to the still-raw tissue.

"No," Hermione agreed with a sigh. "There's just too much Dark Magic running through it. Only the wizard who cast it could fully repair it. And I'm not likely to go knocking on _his_ door cap-in-hand any time soon. I just have to be thankful Madam Pomfrey was able to stop it spreading further than it did."

"Indeed," said the mirror. "The last thing you would have wanted it to do was cut one of your boobs in half. I don't know if that boyfriend of yours is the vain sort, but scars are bad enough as it is...half-boobs might just be a deal breaker for some."

"I don't think that I like you _knowing_ anything, being as you're just a mirror," Hermione frowned. "I don't trust things if I don't know where their brains are."

"Then you can't have much trust at all, in a school full of teenagers," the mirror remarked, sardonically. "What a morose life you must lead."

"Oh, go boil your fat frame!" Hermione huffed, turning away from her own cross reflection.

She sat on her bed and chewed her lip anyway, fussing over the mirror's comments. Harry _wasn't_ vain, he was perfectly modest. But he was still a _boy_ and, despite being one of the better ones, what if he _did_ find her scar repulsive, when the time came for her to finally show it to him? The thought made her shiver...she wasn't sure she'd _ever_ have the courage to do _that._

But the notion was now stuck with her, pinned just behind her forehead. For Harry would surely _want_ to, wouldn't he? He'd want to see her...to see her _naked_. The very thought made her blush in the early morning twilight. He might have already thought about it, he might even be dreaming about it, right now, as Hermione sat on her bed and fretted over the possibility.

Her scar throbbed at that moment, and Hermione pulled her nightie back on. The cotton stuck to the sticky salve paste but Hermione had no mind for that. She reached back into the drawer of her bedside table and pulled out her journal, along with her wand, and quickly dispelled the Privacy and Concealment charms on the leather-bound book.

Hermione placed the open journal between her knees and she flopped back against her headboard, a self-writing quill already poised on the next page.

"Dear Diary," Hermione began, setting the quill to movement. "Had another row with the mirror, but it made a good point this time - what will Harry think when he sees me naked, along with that hideous scar on my chest? Will he be disgusted? Will he run a mile? I bet he's already thought about me with my clothes off...typical boy, and all...I don't want to disappoint him by being so marked.

"But, what am I saying? _Harry_ has a scar! Okay, so it isn't right across his body, or in an intimate place, but he's the _last_ person to give me grief about a scar, isn't he? He might even be gentle with me. I think I'd quite like him to soothe it, to apply the balm to my skin. Ooh...that's too hot a thought for this time of day! Honestly...what's gotten into me lately?

"This whole thing has given me a new set of topics to worry on, though. We've been dating nearly a month, we've kissed and cuddled and its been great, but when do we go further? It'll have to be me that initiates it...Harry, bless him, is too noble for his own good sometimes. He'd never violate my boundaries. But I don't know what in the name of Merlin I'm supposed to do. It's not as if I've been running round with every boy in Hogwarts since I was thirteen. I'm no Ginny Weasley."

 _Speaking_ of Ginny Weasley...

Hermione's attention was drawn to the edge of her bed as she paused for thought. There, still spread open from the previous night, was Harry's Marauders Map. He'd given it to her to offset her paranoia about his _Special Curriculum_ classes with Dumbledore. Hermione couldn't settle until she knew Harry was safely back in their dorm, and the map allowed her to follow his little dot until she was sure he was ensconced and recovering in the room across the hall.

The Map had also become something of a guilty indulgence for Hermione. Harry didn't know this, but Hermione would often just lay there and fixate on his dot and his name, wondering what he was doing, what he was thinking. Increasingly, these thoughts had been invaded by an altogether naughtier sort, too, but they were all sorts of new, and far too embarrassing, to dwell on just now. Hermione was getting far too attached to simply looking at Harry's name and dot and drifting into all kinds of girly daydreams that simply _weren't_ Hermione Granger-esque.

They were the sort of things that might shock Hogwarts Castle to its core.

Hermione had been doing exactly that the previous night. Dumbledore was personally Apprenticing Harry in Alchemy, in addition to his school classes, and much of their session work was time-specific. So Harry was gone late, and told Hermione not to wait up. Which she totally ignored. But she liked to let Harry think he had some measure of influence over her, so she agreed like a dutiful little girlfriend, only to stay up anyway and watch his progress through the night via the Map.

Hermione had been watching Harry's little dot-self sleep, smiling to herself at all the silly thoughts chasing each other through her head about him, when she finally dozed off herself. So the map was still open on the bed. Harry was still in his room, asleep of course, as it wasn't yet 6am and he didn't get up until the last possible second if he could help it. In fact, all the students were still clustered in their dorms, as the morning curfew hadn't been yet lifted and it was against the rules for students to be out of bed.

But _someone_ was breaking those rules...doing a passable impression of Harry, in fact, and stealing through the deserted corridors.

And that _someone_ was one Ginevra Weasley.

Hermione scowled at the little dot, following its progress through the castle. It looked like Ginny was on the Second Floor corridor, but it was tricky to tell as this was the time of night when different bits of the castle went to visit one another. It was the main reason for the curfew - stairs and corridors could change place and, far from getting lost on an unfamiliar floor, students could get lost miles under the school and be trapped down there.

They might not be found for years.

But Ginny seemed to have no such trouble. She had come to a stop in an unmarked room. The Map was great at pointing out classrooms and dungeons and towers, but it failed when it came to the more mundane store rooms and maintainence closets. Ginny was in one of these just now, doing Merlin-knows what, and Hermione was transfixed by her.

And then, just like that, her dot abruptly _vanished._

Hermione audibly gasped as it happened. She even picked up the Map, fruitlessly flipping it over as though Ginny's name might have somehow sunk through to the other side. Hermione turned it the right way up and scrutinized the spot where she'd last seen Ginny. It was a nondescript room. There was only one thing for it, she'd have to go investigate herself.

It was the sort of thing a Prefect ought to do.

Then there was the added incentive of catching Ginny breaking the rules. It would be the sweetest thing to punish her for even the most trivial misdemeanor. That's assuming she was still there. If Hermione knew how the Map worked correctly, a disappearing dot meant that a person had physically left the boundary the tracking spell covered, which in this case was the castle and its grounds. Ginny was nowhere to be seen within that perimeter, so the logical conclusion was that she was no longer in Hogwarts.

But that, itself, was a highly illogical prospect.

Hermione was dressed and on the way within minutes, Map in one hand, wand in the other. She passed through the empty Common Room, out of the Portrait Hole and hurried along the draughty corridors. She kept shooting glances at the Map, in case Ginny should happen to reappear. She didn't, however, and soon Hermione found herself in the right place, her own dot exactly where Ginny's had popped from the Map barely ten minutes earlier.

Hermione looked around, scrunching her brow. She was opposite the once-disused girls' bathroom. _It wouldn't hurt a look_ , she thought to herself, pushing open the door before she even had time to consider a protest. The room was plush and new, compared to the other toilets dotted around the castle. The cubicles had all been renovated and updated, the sinks pristine and gleaming. Even Moaning Myrtle had vacated the premises, and who knows where that bothersome spectre might be haunting these days.

On instinct, Hermione made her way to the sink which had once concealed the hidden entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. The taps had been changed to accommodate the new sinks and everything looked sealed and safe. As well it should. Hermione nodded to herself, curiosity sated, and moved back into the corridor.

The room opposite turned out to be a store room, though Hermione couldn't remember it being here before. She looked around the low-hanging gloom, her eyes trying to adjust to the awkward shapes and angular shadows. She kept one eye fixed on the Map...for it just wouldn't do for Ginny to lurch out of the darkness and take her by surprise. Harry would never let her live it down.

Soon, things began to come into focus, helped by the castle torches, which all erupted into life bang on 6am. The room was flooded with flickering light, allowing Hermione a better look at its contents. This was clearly a general maintainence room. There were pots of paint and stiff rollers, broken brooms and sweeping brushes, rows and rows of loo roll, and more toilet seats than Hermione had ever seen in one place before.

Then something caught her eye. A cracked sink, leaning against a wall, hidden behind a rack groaning under a mass of gardening tools and impossible lengths of hose. Hermione moved towards it, cocking her head as she assessed it. The sight made her heart stop a moment. She recognised that sink...that tap...

The little serpent carved into it was unmistakeable...

What in the name of Agrippa was _that_ doing here? Hermione stowed the Map and cast _Lumos_ from her wand, to inspect the sink more closely. There was no doubt, this was _the_ sink...the one which had once led to the Chamber deep below the school, and the fierce beast housed within. But Hermione had been wrong about one thing...it wasn't simply _leaning_ against the wall...it was _connected_ to it.

Hermione blanched. She felt around the fittings, fingering the point where they disappeared into the brickwork. _Disappeared_...but that would mean...

* * *

"It _goes_ somewhere, Harry! It must do. And, somehow, Ginny went there too!"

Hermione was alive, bright-eyed with exuberance. But Harry was fighting an angry worry in his belly.

"And you just came here... _alone_?" he asked lowly. "Have you lost your mind?"

"I...well," Hermione replied, thrown and flustered by Harry's firm stance. Clearly, she'd been expecting unequivocal support for her actions, not Harry's condemnation. It was a bizarre role-reversal that confused her a moment. "Perhaps I wasn't thinking..."

"No, you weren't," said Harry, crossly.

"I just _had_ to find out where Ginny had gone to," Hermione argued.

"And what if it had been a trap?" Harry returned. "What if she'd lured you here, then _you_ disappeared without a trace? I'd have had no idea and you might have been lost to me forever. It's an action so reckless it's worthy of...well... _me!_ And that's rarely ever been a good thing."

"I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione mumbled.

"Just don't do something so thoughtless again," said Harry, his tone softer. "I just couldn't _stand_ to lose you...I don't know what I'd do..."

Hermione smiled shyly, telling off over. She reached over and touched Harry's arm. "Okay. I wont go running off on my own again. But you can't either. That's the deal."

Harry grinned back. "But that's taking away one of my most alluring traits! Girls like a boy who comes with a bit of danger. Or so I've heard."

"I prefer my boyfriends alive and in one piece," said Hermione, drawing close to Harry's side. "This is an equal partnership...one rule for all."

"If you insist," said Harry. He kissed Hermione on the top of her head. "Well, as we're here, tell me what you've found out."

Hermione kicked into high gear. "I looked all around the sink and the walls," she began, pacing with restless energy as if to emphasise the point. Harry could only watch; he did do love to see her in _on a mission mode_. "The pipes go deep into the walls - but I don't know how far - and that's not all. If you press close, like here," she grabbed Harry's hand and guided it to the cold stone, "you can just about make out a small groove. If you didn't know to look, you'd never spot it."

"And what, exactly, are we spotting?"

"Oh, _come on_ , Harry!" Hermione cried, impatiently. "It's obviously a doorway, or a passage of some sort. Maybe leading down into the Chamber. I thought - now don't laugh - but what if the entrance could be _moved?_ Set up somewhere else, if you see what I mean? The stairways move, doors pretend to be walls, what if the Chamber could be accessed just by setting up the sink at another location?"

"It's possible," said Harry, smoothing the faint groove in the wall. "I mean, if you think about it, there are loads of subterranean spaces beneath the school. The Chamber, the passages where the Philosophers Stone was protected, even the Lake goes under the school apparently. And, my mum was rumoured to have a secret lab somewhere deep under the school. Hermione - there could be a whole network of tunnels and chambers down there...they could be hiding _anything_!"

"And, of course, the Map wouldn't show them!" Hermione cried, triumphantly. "Your Dad and Sirius and the others _made_ the Map -"

"- and they had no idea these Chambers existed -"

"- so they couldn't include them in their tracking spell -"

"- which means if someone went _into_ one -"

"- it would be like they _vanished_ from the school!" Hermione whispered, gathering her breath.

"And that's exactly what happened to Ginny," Harry mused.

"Just like before," said Hermione. "And, also like before, the Marauders Map wouldn't show where she was. You have to think that all those years ago, when Riddle's Diary possessed Ginny, the Weasley Twins would have gone straight to the Map to try and locate her."

Harry nodded in agreement. "The question is... _where_ has she gone? And how? She can't speak Parseltongue, so far as we know."

"No..." Hermione began darkly. "But that never stopped her before..."

Harry felt a dark chill race over his flesh in electrifying pinpricks. "What it is you think?"

"I've been dwelling on what Professor Abraham said to you, about the residual effect handling the Philosophers Stone might have left on you," Hermione began, sitting down on an upturned mop bucket. "If _that_ were true, it might be the same for other enchanted objects. Ginny was in possession of the diary for months. How did you say Riddle described it - _Ginny Weasley poured her soul into me, until I was able to pour a little of mine back into her?_ "

Harry swallowed hard, astonished and speechless that Hermione had felt his words as worth memorising as a textbook. He felt in exalted company.

"Something like that, yeah," he returned, quietly blushing in the gloom.

"Well, what if some of it is still there?" Hermione went on. "She never was fully purged, so far as we know. What if, when Voldemort was reanimated, something switched on in his new body? A sort of connection to Ginny? You know he can access _your_ mind, probably because a residue of his magic still exists in your scar, but what if the same is true of Ginny? Tom Riddle doesn't strike me as the sort of wizard who wouldn't try and exploit something like that."

"And now he doesn't dare enter _my mind_ anymore, because it hurts him, he's exploring the link to Ginny instead," Harry replied, thinking fast. "She's using the Parseltongue Voldemort has awoken in her, opening this portal to wherever it goes and...doing whatever she's doing in there."

"Which we must assume is something sinister," Hermione completed. "As why else would it be so clandestine?"

Harry nodded, rubbing his chin in contemplation. "The other question is, why is the sink still here at all? Why not just throw it out when the toilet was renovated? I can't believe that's just a coincidence. You keep the one sink that lead to one of the biggest secrets in the whole school. Yeah, come on."

"But who would keep it?" Hermione asked. "Who would _want_ to go to the Chamber of Secrets?"

Harry froze suddenly, his pulse stopping in his neck. "Perhaps someone who was investigating Voldemort, someone studying him for weakness. Someone who knew that just how difficult it would be to kill him."

Hermione gasped. " _Dumbledore_! You think he was trying to get information on those Horcrux things?"

"Why else would you keep the portal?" asked Harry. "It's the only link he had to Riddle..."

Then his voice tailed off. Harry closed his eyes, trying to master his rapid breathing.

"What? What is it?" asked Hermione, rising to Harry's side in her anxiety.

But Harry didn't look at her right away. He was trying to hold a vision in his mind...an image of a blackened hand, and a cracked ring...

"It was a Horcrux, just like the Diary," said Harry slowly, as he explained his vision. "Dumbledore wore it...just like Ginny wrote in the book. And if the very act of her writing was enough for that portion of Riddle's soul to possess her..."

"Then wearing the ring was enough for a Riddle soul fragment to possess Dumbledore!" Hermione breathed in horror. "Merlin forbid!"

"And if Ginny can be possessed or influenced so easily, as she was tonight, what's to stop Dumbledore being equally as vulnerable!" Harry cried. "Come on! We have to find him!"

And with that they raced from the store room, bolting along corridors and diving through tapestries, ignoring the angry calls of unwary students to happened to get in the way. They hurtled along past the Transfiguration classrooms, vaulted the shallow steps of a spiral tower staircase and eventually came to rest on the parapet outside the Headmaster's office, where they could clutch at stitches in their sides as they recovered their breath.

Oddly enough, they weren't the only ones there.

Severus Snape and Minerva McGonagall has swung around the corner mere seconds before Harry and Hermione arrived. Both wore matching looks of grave determination. Madam Pomfrey was soon joining them.

"What's happened? What's going on?" Harry panted.

"An alarm triggered," McGonagall explained. "The Headmaster has collapsed and lost consciousness. We are trying to access his rooms now."

"Do you know the password?" Snape asked.

"No, you?" McGonagall replied.

"It is probably another damned Muggle sweet," Snape hissed. " _Mars bar! Skittles! Opal Fruits!_ "

"Oh, stand aside," said Pomfrey, bustling forwards. "The Headmaster installed a special override of the security enchantment. Medical emergencies only."

"And why would he need to do that?" asked Snape, suspiciously.

Pomfrey threw him a shrewd look. "Because he's _a hundred and fifty_ , Severus! Now, out of my way!"

Snape obliged, and Harry took a bitter satisfaction at seeing the hated Potions Master put in his place. But any such notions were overshadowed a moment later, as the gargoyle slid away on Pomfrey's command and the party streamed into the room.

For there, writhing on the floor as if in the throes of some sort of fit, was Dumbledore, looking somehow every day of his ancient years.

"Albus!" McGonagall breathed, clutching at her chest.

"Severus! Minerva! Help me to hold him steady!" Pomfrey yelled as she dropped to Dumbledore's side. The Professors obeyed as Pomfrey began muttering diagnostic spells at a staggering rate. Snape, too, had drawn his wand and was uttering at speed under his breath, a fact that only Harry seemed to have noticed.

"What's happening to him, Poppy?" McGonagall urged.

"I would say a seizure, but I can find no evidence of toxins or malign spells in his system," Pomfrey replied.

"I agree," said Snape. "The Dark Magic in his injury has not spread either. This is something else."

Just then, Dumbledore breathed pointedly, as if trying to speak.

"Did you catch that?" asked Snape, who had heard it too. "Anyone?"

Four heads shook in the negative. Then Dumbledore breathed again.

"Albus? What is it?" asked Pomfrey, gently. "We're here, you're safe."

It was an odd thing to say, Harry thought, and it made him move closer. Then he understood...for tears were streaming down Dumbledore's face.

He wasn't having a fit or a seizure...he was simply consumed by inconsolable grief.

"Albus...what is it?" McGonagall asked, softly. "Can we help?"

Dumbledore suddenly snatched out, grabbing McGonagall by the robes and tugging her down. When he spoke, his voice was louder...but its tone was so broken the sound cut to Harry's very heart.

"I...I... _tortured_ him, Minerva!" Dumbledore wept. "I cut...I sliced...Horace...my old friend! Forgive me!"

McGonagall glanced up briefly and met Harry's eye in a flash of understanding.

"I'm sure you had no choice, Albus," Minerva soothed. "You wouldn't have -"

"There is always a _choice_!" Dumbledore snapped. "And I took the easy one! Just like...just like..."

Harry felt Hermione slip her hand into his as she folded close. She was trembling next to him.

But Dumbledore was shouting suddenly, leaping up in restless anxiety, talking to unseen entities.

"No...no... _no!"_ Dumbledore shrieked. "Not her! Anyone but her! Take me, Merlin! Spare Ariana!"

Harry threw a look at Hermione, but she looked as equally as confused as he was.

"Yes, Aber, yes," Dumbledore went on, throwing off Pomfrey as she tried to sedate him. "The goat...fetch it quickly...while we still have time..."

And with that, Dumbledore crumpled to the floor. Pomfrey and Snape surged forwards, but there was a flash of fire above Dumbledore's head. Fawkes emerged from it, landed gracefully on the Headmaster's shoulder, trilling out one, quavering note. Harry felt it stir beautifully in his very bones, energising him from his very core.

But Fawkes wasn't done. He rested his plume against Dumbledore's head, his claws dug deep into the folds of the Headmaster's robes. There was a strange energy about the room, pulsing out from Dumbledore and Fawkes in powerful waves. It was as if the Phoenix was somehow infusing its Master, attempting to revive him. It went on for several minutes, until Fawkes angled his head up with another vibrating call, then took flight back to his perch.

Harry looked at Dumbledore. The ancient wizard seemed calm now, the wrinkles in his face waxed and easy. Whatever drama they'd all just witnessed, it seemed to have passed now.

"Professor?" Harry ventured, stepping close to McGonagall.

His Regent turned to him. "Go now, back to breakfast with both of you," McGonagall ordered in her undefy-able tone. "And tell no-one of what you've seen here. I will come and see you once we know more."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Hermione had suddenly taken his arm from behind and dragged him bodily from the room.

* * *

Minerva's promise proved to be hollow, as neither Harry nor Hermione saw her for a whole week. Her Transfiguration classes became simple revision periods, overseen by the Grey Lady of Ravenclaw. She was a more entertaining ghost-Professor than old Binns, regaling the class with tales of all her lovers, which the girls in particular seemed to enjoy. Even Hermione giggled and snickered at some of the stories of her conquests, until Harry rapped her on the head with a sheet of rolled up parchment for acting so peculiar.

Hermione's birthday present-redeeming day came and went and was in all a pleasant jaunt. Most of the students were understandably envious, not only that Harry and Hermione were able to leave the castle, but also that they'd snagged tickets for the hottest gig in town. It surprised more than one person in the Great Hall on Saturday evening, when Harry and Hermione strode in wearing matching black t-shirts emblazoned with atmospheric, artsy _Weird Sisters_ legends.

"How did _you_ get tickets?" Katie Bell moaned over dinner. "Those tickets sold out _months_ ago!"

Hermione grinned at the Gryffindor Senior Prefect. "Harry just mentioned his name and they were tripping over themselves to squeeze in an extra VIP box. It's about time that nonsense _Boy-Who-Lived_ moniker came in for something useful we reckon!"

"Yep," Harry agreed, swigging on a big tankard of Butterbeer that Dobby had 'persuaded' the other elves to sneak up to him. "Its good to be me...sometimes."

"Well, I'm wickedly jealous," said Katie. "Have a good time, won't you?"

And they did. Having their own box was great. It meant they could sing along and jump about crazily and bang their heads to the crashing music, only cracking their own heads into each other. Which was just too funny and made them fall about in hysterics. Or perhaps they were both suffering with mild concussions.

They were having a ball, and Hermione even eased up and allowed Dobby to bring them Goblin Ale. And by _eased up_ , that meant she only frowned once. Or twice. She sipped on cider made by a rare clan of serene Cornish pixies, but as she was legally of age she was allowed to buy it from the bar herself. It was strawberry and lime flavoured, made her cheeks turn a cute shade of red, and also made her say things to Harry which made his cheeks burn even brighter than her own.

They stayed the night in the Leaky Cauldron, taking separate rooms, despite the huge temptation to accept when toothy Tom offered them a couples' suite. They then spent Sunday ambling around Muggle London, taking a trip on the London Eye, wandering through Westminster Abbey, and trying to work out the four icons in the seat moquette of the Central Line tube trains.

As the evening drew in, talk inevitably turned to the troubles at Hogwarts, with Dumbledore's _funny turn_ at the top of the list of topics.

"He was so guilty about what he did to that Slughorn bloke," Harry said, as they ate chocolate-smothered crepes in Covent Garden. "He wasn't like that when he did it, mind."

"I think we must be right about their residual possessions," Hermione mused, her mind on Ginny as much as Dumbledore. "Maybe that part was more prominent during the torture, but every now and then the real Dumbledore comes out."

"I'm not sure who the real Dumbledore actually is," Harry commented. "He's acting so strange lately, its like he's swinging from one pole to the other. And that's just the acts we know about. I still have no idea what he was after in my vault."

"No, that's true," said Hermione. "Though I think that Ceremonial Shroud might be a good shout. There's _definitely_ something about that we don't know, something Dumbledore hasn't told us."

"Or is likely to tell us," said Harry. "I wonder where he went? That Healer didn't look like one of the St. Mungo's crowd."

"No, nor would I expect Dumbledore to be taken there," said Hermione. "If Voldemort has infiltrated the Department of Magical Medicine as deeply as we suspect, it would be very dangerous for Dumbledore to throw himself under their care. He could be assassinated in his sleep. That's why our private Common Room is littered with pretty much all the books that the library has on Healing. If anything happens to _you,_ I'm fixing you myself."

"My own personal nurse," Harry grinned. "I hope you have a good bedside manner!"

"You'll just do as you're told and that's that. Easy, see?" Hermione replied chirpily.

Harry butted his head affectionately against her shoulder. Then he turned to her with a serious look. "That wasn't the only book I saw you'd checked out."

Hermione shifted her weight guilty. "I'm quite sure I don't know what you mean."

"Have you ever told a fib that anyone's believed?" Harry asked, pointedly. " _Secrets of the Darkest Arte?_ Otherwise known as the _Big Book of Horcruxes._ Did you think I wouldn't see?"

"Honestly? No," Hermione replied flatly. "You're aren't known for being the most observant, especially where books are concerned."

Harry huffed at her. "How did you even get it? That must have been in the deepest, darkest corner of the restricted section."

Hermione looked away shyly. "You don't take Potions with Snape any more. He set us a task last week, to brew a tricky little potion. The prize was something called _Felix Felicis_."

"What's that?"

"Er... _liquid luck_ ," said Hermione, flushing madly. "Well, I won -"

"Obviously," said Harry, supportively.

"And I got the potion," Hermione continued, blushing deeper from Harry's compliment. "After what happened with Dumbledore and Ginny, I just _had_ to get this book. So I took a sip of _Felix_ , headed right up to Pince, and asked. She even went and got it for me. I guess it was just my lucky day!"

Harry chortled at that. "Hermione Granger breaking rules...I'm actually proud of you. You truly are my girl through and through."

"Well, that's not in any doubt," Hermione replied with a sexy grin. "But, anyway, I got the book, made a copy, then returned the original before any suspicion was raised."

"Okay. So after this blatant petty crime, did you learn anything useful?"

"A ton, actually," said Hermione. "I've been trying to process it all. There's a lot more going on here than either of us realise."

"Go on," Harry urged, intrigued.

"The long version or the abridged?"

"How about the highlights?" Harry teased.

"Well, the first thing I found is that there are absolutely no records of a Horcrux existing before Voldemort, not one," said Hermione, smugly. "How's that for starters?"

"How can that be?" asked Harry. "If there's a textbook on them..."

"Then someone must have given instructions to create them, exactly what I thought," said Hermione, smiling that Harry had cottoned on so fast. "And the book _is_ a creation guide. It's a very complicated and gory process involving ritual and cannibalism, but that's just window dressing."

"Maybe you can tell me as a bedtime story," said Harry, without thinking.

"Er...yes, if you like," Hermione stuttered nervously. "But anyway, the curious thing is that the book has no author, and I can find no evidence that anyone knows who actually wrote it. I've cross-indexed with Flourish and Blotts and the Central Library of Britain, but there is no credit to the author anywhere."

"Now that is odd," Harry agreed.

"It gets odder," Hermione went on. "The text is even more curious, as lots of it seem to be written in German. Occasional words and phrases, especially in relation to the aim of Horcrux creation in the first place. The author seems to call a wizard who successfully manages to 'purify' his soul - essentially by splitting it through sacrifice - a _lebensborn_. I know I've heard that phrase before, but I just can't place it."

Harry scowled, thinking hard. But he was no linguist. He had no greater idea on the meaning of _lebensborn_ than he did of _sauerkraut_.

"But, Hermione," Harry asked. "How can splitting a soul 'purify' it? Especially if you have to make a sacrifice. I'm pretty sure you don't have giving up chocolate frogs in mind, do you?"

"No, Harry," Hermione replied, pityingly. "I'm talking major sacrifice - a blood sacrifice or something similar. As for the purification part, whoever wrote the book was quite clearly insane to an alarming level. Their idea of pure is on a par with our idea of totally screwed up in the head!"

"Ah, I see," Harry grinned.

"But the whole thing got me thinking about Dumbledore's rant in his chambers," Hermione continued.

"How so?"

"Well, the book focused primarily on splitting the soul and implanting into another living thing," said Hermione. "In a backwards sort of way, it made a twisted type of sense."

"In what way?" Harry asked.

"The book seemed to suggest that such an act would allow a wizard to control the beast into which he implanted his soul," Hermione explained. "That would certainly be useful. Imagine, if you placed a soul fragment into a bird. It could travel thousands of miles to spy for you."

"Or you could use a dragon, for controlled protection?" Harry offered.

"Precisely," said Hermione. "It would certainly have its uses...assuming you didn't mind either the act of murder or of splitting your soul in the first place. The end would justify the means in such cases."

"And where does Dumbledore fit into this?"

"I'm not sure yet," said Hermione. "But he said _Aber_...and I'd bet my broomstick he was talking about his brother."

"You don't own a broomstick," Harry pointed out.

"Okay, I'd bet _your_ Firebolt," Hermione corrected, adding when Harry looked at her with raised eyebrows, "what's mine is yours, after all."

Harry just grinned at her. "And if you won this bet and it _was_ his brother, what does that mean?"

"It means, dear, that Aberforth's _inappropriate charms on goats_ might just have more to them than anyone's ever imagined."

Harry sat back and considered that. It was at times like this that he truly marvelled at the power of his girlfriend's brain. It worked in ways his own was simply incapable of, he was quite sure of that. Hermione Granger was simply a force of nature.

Harry was just glad she was _his_ force of nature.

"There's one other, slightly worrying piece of information I've uncovered so far," Hermione added.

"This gets worse?"

"Depends how you view it," said Hermione.

"Go on, hit me one more time," said Harry, bracing himself.

"Horcruxes can only be created using Parseltongue," Hermione stated. "Riddle can obviously speak it, but whoever wrote that book must also have been able to. And it isn't a common gift. Even Riddle would have had to be taught to speak it in conversation."

"But he couldn't have _written_ the book, if that's what you're suggesting...not if he needed it to make his first one?"

"Maybe not...unless he wrote it as he went along, or added to it as he carried out multiple splits, " said Hermione, darkly. "It's quite possible he _invented_ Horcruxes, Harry. But if he _didn't_ , and he just wanted the book to research the effects the multiple splits, it raises an intriguing question."

Harry looked at her wide-eyed as comprehension dawned. "If he didn't invent Horcruxes...but already knew the basics...who taught _him_?"

"Precisely..." said Hermione quietly. "Is he the teacher...or the student?"

"And who else is involved...that speaks German?"

Hermione tipped her eyes at him, happy that he was now on the same page, to join in her confused thinkings on the topic. Harry sighed as he stuck a finger up at the world.

As if things weren't confusing enough already.


	14. Project Horizon

* * *

October arrived with a flurry of cold weather. The trees of the Forbidden Forest creaked worryingly in high gales, scattering their rapidly darkening leaves onto the heads of those students studying Herbology and Care Of Magical Creatures on the blustery grounds nearby. The Lake was already turning the colour of chilled steel, its murky waves lapping angrily against slopes made treacherous by a series of heavy recent rainstorms.

Harry sat in the warmth of Gryffindor Tower and watched it all from the comfort of the Prefects Dorm. Hermione was out in that somewhere, planting some magical seeds that were part of a first term Potions project. Snape had set them the task of cultivating the ingredients for a Potion themselves, as his store cupboard wouldn't always been on hand to bail them out. Harry begrudgingly admitted this was a fair point, but he didn't really care, as he took specialist Potions tuition from Dumbledore these days and didn't have to get drenched in order to satiate Snape's cruel whimsy against his students.

Also, Hermione looked adorable when her hair was all over the place. And Harry would never complain about his girlfriend looking so heart-achingly cute.

He was trying very hard _not_ to think about her. She was such a distraction, even when she wasn't with him. And he had to crack on with his Alchemy homework - a two-foot essay on the _Nigredo Stage_ of the Work. It was all very interesting, but what with Hermione on his mind, and the new Weird Sisters hit song - _Wicked Witch of the West_ \- on the Wireless, Harry was getting very little done.

So it came as quite the relief when suddenly the fire burst to life and a scrap of parchment emerged from the flame. Harry went to grab it. But before he could even stand up, the parchment contorted into a vague mouth-shape and said, in Hermione's voice -

" _Are you coming to lunch...or do I have to get another boyfriend to keep me company?"_

Harry grinned as the parchment disintegrated into little specks of ash. He hauled himself up and made his way down to the Great Hall. Hermione was waiting for him just outside, drying her hair with her wand and looking very dishevelled.

"What are you smirking at?" Hermione said, crossly, as Harry approached. "It's a flaming storm out there!"

"Is it raining? I hadn't noticed," said Harry off-handedly, plucking a stray leaf from Hermione's mane. She scowled at him. "I could leave it there, if you'd prefer?"

"Just take me to lunch!"

"Yes, ma'am," said Harry. He leant in close to whisper in Hermione's ear. "I do so _love_ it when you get bossy, did you know?"

The corners of Hermione's lips curled into a shy smile, in spite of herself. "Shut up, Harry."

"There's my girl," Harry smiled back. "Shall I take your bag?"

"Gaaay. Whipped like a proper lame racehorse, eh Potter?"

Draco Malfoy was passing them on the way from the Hall. Harry clenched his jaw.

"I may be a horse, but at least it means I'm _well hung_ ," Harry volleyed back.

"Says who?" Malfoy sniped.

"Says me, obviously," Hermione crooned silkily.

Malfoy looked taken aback by Hermione's forthrightness, but she didn't back down, even as a series of hissing whispers broke out on tables nearby. She gave one, quite challenging look, at Malfoy, then guided Harry through the wall of gossip towards the Gryffindor table.

"We'll pay for that one," said Harry, nodding at the clustered heads looking in their direction. "How lewd do you reckon it will get?"

"Oh, let them hang," said Hermione, dismissively. "They can talk all they want. It's not as if they aren't talking already."

"But about _that?"_ Harry asked, pointedly.

Hermione looked pityingly at him. "Oh, honey, most of the girls here have _already_ talked about that. Especially _yours_."

Harry dribbled out his mouthful of pumpkin juice in surprise. "Th-they have?"

"Of course," Hermione replied, breezily. "Not _just_ yours, of course, but as you're the biggest name here the girls often wonder if you are the biggest in _other_ ways, too. It's a fairly natural thing to talk about, and I've probably done your reputation a favour. I'm surprised you didn't know. I bet you talk about girls' bits all the time."

That was true, but Harry wasn't stupid enough to admit it. He decided on a more tactful line. "I don't actually."

"Oh come on, Harry! I'm a modern girl, I know you talk with the other boys about us girls."

"Well..." Harry began cautiously. "Susan Bones has a great set of boobs...and Sally-Anne Perks' legs go on for ever!"

"What! You look at _other girls_!? How _dare_ you!"

"You...you just said..." Harry began, fitfully afraid. "Modern girl...I thought you said."

Then Hermione burst out laughing. "Harry...I was _joking_! _Honestly_. I'd love Sally's legs, I wont lie. They're so silky and toned. But I quite like my boobs, I wouldn't swap them. Besides, Sue says hers give her chronic back pain."

"I like your boobs...and your legs," said Harry, quietly.

Hermione flushed crimson. "Thanks. I...I didn't know you'd looked..."

 _When do I stop looking?_ Harry thought desperately. Ever since he'd noticed it, Hermione's body had become a source of immense addiction to him, not that he could ever do it justice by explaining that to her.

"I've looked," he said, avoiding meeting her eye. "I didn't know you'd _thought_...about me, I mean...like that."

"Oh don't be so coy, Harry," said Hermione. "You've always been ridiculously fanciable. Every girl with a set of eyes knows that. And I've had more opportunity to look than any of them. But, now that I'm allowed to look more - ahem - _intimately_..."

Her voice tailed off, dreadfully embarrassed. They sat in silence and ate, both grinning madly at their own thoughts, dying to confess them to the other but mindful that this was about as wrong a place as they could imagine for such a discussion. Just then, their reverie was interrupted by the arrival of Professor McGonagall at their table.

"Harry, Miss Granger," said McGonagall. "When you are done with lunch, please join me in my office."

"Why? What's wrong?" asked Harry, thrown by the gravity of McGonagall's tone.

"I am not sure yet," McGonagall replied. "But I have just received a message...from Gringotts."

"Is there a problem with the Estate?" asked Harry. He knew, as his Regent, McGonagall was now the first point of contact in such matters.

"No, at least not directly," said McGonagall. "But something has come up...and it involves the _both_ of you."

"Me?" asked Hermione, a tremble in her voice. "How?"

"This I don't know. The Goblins were not specific. Just join me as soon as you can."

"I'm ready now," said Harry, leaping up.

"As am I," Hermione agreed. "I think I've lost my appetite."

"As you wish," said McGonagall. "Follow me."

Half an hour later and the three of them were sat in the plain, stone office of Harry's Personal Finance Goblin, who was called Arngor. The swarthy creature was more terse than usual, and for a goblin that was quite something. Harry braced himself for bad news.

"What is this about?" asked McGonagall presently. "You said it was urgent."

"And I meant my words," the goblin replied. He stood up, but was so small that it made little difference to his stature. "As you are no doubt aware, there are fundamental changes taking place here in White City."

"Of course," McGonagall replied. "But I was under the impression the bank was independent of the Government."

Arngor grimaced in toothy-grin sort of way. "Mrs McGonagall, Gringotts is the financial arm of the Government. We deliver the capital for all civil works, provide loans for various fields of research, are in charge of all the wages the Government pays its workers. In turn, the Government passes legislation which allows us to trade freely with an air of autonomy. It is a symbiotic relationship that has been mutually beneficial to both parties for centuries."

" _Has been_?" Harry queried, lowly.

"Has been," Arngor echoed. "Recent changes to the ruling powers threaten to undermine all that."

"Explain," said McGonagall.

"The bank trades not just in money...but in _trust_ ," said Arngor. "Our autonomy from Government control has always facilitated that. People trust us with their money, allowing us to invest and grow our institution around the world. However, this new _coalition_ wants to do away with all our traditions. They want control of the bank, that is one of their many goals. And there are those at the bank who are keen to see it happen. They see great profits in the new regime...so are turning a blind eye to the other things being implemented in order to deliver such wealth."

"Like what?" asked Hermione.

Arngor considered her with grave seriousness. Harry shuddered at the sight, though he couldn't have said why. "Like the reason I have summoned you here today. A few days ago, an official from the GR - you know who they are - delivered a request for all the financial information on _every_ magical citizen on record. They are compiling huge databases, one of which aims to catalogue all financial activity in magical Britain. They want to track where citizens get their money from, and where it goes.

"In particular, they are quite keen to learn all they can about the financial activity of Muggles that have children who have attended Hogwarts. They want to know account details of these children, how the Muggles came to learn about Gringotts, and all their transactions in the magical world. It seems they want to know if the Muggles are doing more than simply paying for school supplies."

Harry's jaw clenched hard as anger surged within him. "And why do they want to know all this?"

"I can only speculate," said Arngor. "But for a regime which seems fixated on Purebloods and _Magic for Magicals_ , it strikes me that information on non-Magicals in our world could be... _perverted_...into a terrible weapon."

"Where does this concern my Ward and his girlfriend?" asked McGonagall, her face flushed with her own ire.

"Now we come to the point," said Arngor. "During the collation of this data, Miss Granger's family naturally came up. She is Muggleborn, after all. But there was a...well...a _curiosity_ which arose during the course of the research."

"A _curiosity_?" asked Hermione, puzzled. "What does that mean?"

"I was unsure myself," said Arngor. "But any mention of you, or your family, now automatically triggers a privacy threat on your joint account with Mr Potter. I took it upon myself to dig further into the protocol breach, and found some unusual references...to your _parents_."

Hermione gasped and sat up, alert. _"My_ parents? But...they aren't magical...why would they flag up?"

"My question exactly," said the goblin. "So, invoking the Trust Clause I have access to as your Account Goblin, I looked into your family background. I found the name _Granger_ in reference to something called _Project Horizon_. Your grandfather was called Nicholas Granger, wasn't he? And your grandmother was Elizabeth Granger?"

"Yes...that's right," Hermione mumbled in shock.

"Her unmarried name was _Morris,_ and this was also a name associated with Project Horizon."

"How do you know her unmarried name?" asked Hermione, suspiciously.

"They are both recorded...on the birth records from St Mungo's," said Arngor bluntly.

This time, Harry gasped out loud. "St Mungo's...but...wouldn't that mean...?"

"They were both born at the hospital...but _both_ were born _Squibs,"_ Arngor explained. "I tried looking into this Project Horizon, but it has been classified as _Above Top Secret_...and, whatever it is, it was conducted by a very secretive division of the Department of Mysteries. There is a paper trail of salary cheques paid to workers on the Project, but no invoices or any documentation that might hint at what was going on there.

"In my experience - which is vast - operations conducted in such secrecy, with the Project being open and shut down without many people knowing an iota about it, very rarely turn out to be good things."

Hermione was stupefied. She had gone very pale and seemed to be struggling to process the information.

"Why are you telling us this?" asked McGonagall.

"For the simple reason of client security," said Arngor. "There are shady wizards looking into the history of Miss Granger's family, and it suggests a history that might make her - and her _parents -_ very interesting to the Grey Robes. I would advise getting her parents to safety as a matter of urgency...if that blatantly obvious necessity hasn't occurred to you already, of course."

"Meaning what?" Harry spat angrily.

Arngor, to his immense credit, ignored Harry's petulance. "The Goblins will remain neutral in all that is to come. We will not involve ourselves in Wizarding affairs beyond our current role. But it is clear, even to the blindest of us, that soon some magicals will be deemed more equal than others...and those that _aren't_ face a very dangerous future."

Harry gulped hard at the starkness of Arngor's words. He took Hermione's hand and helped her up. They would head to straight to her parents, Harry wouldn't rest until they were safe.

* * *

Hermione sat in the dimly lit kitchen and watched Harry work away. He was flitting around lighting candles and trying to make the place tidy, as Dobby battled hard to set fire to the damp logs in the hearth. The other, decrepit house-elf, stood in a shadowy corner and rocked on the balls of his ancient feet, muttering to himself and fiddling with the ridiculously heavy locket-type pendant that hung at his neck.

"Kreacher, you could help if you wanted!" Harry hissed.

"Harry...be kind," said Hermione. "Remember what Dumbledore said..."

"Don't, Hermione," said Harry, warningly. "I know what you are going to say and just...just don't."

Hermione held her tongue in spite of herself. She knew Harry was still incredibly raw about Sirius, and placed much of the blame at Kreacher's hairy, wrinkled feet. It took time to get over things sometimes, Hermione was cognizant of that. It wasn't wise to press Harry while he was so strung out as this.

The fact that Harry was so fraught over the fate of _her_ parents...well, that swirled intense things in Hermione's heart. She wanted to tell him so, to kiss him and hug him and elucidate all that his actions meant to her, but was afraid she might melt if she did.

For she was all sorts of anguished herself. Not to mention confused. The contents of the meeting at Gringotts had been replayed so many times in her head by now that she almost knew it by heart. Not that it made even a shred of sense to her, something that Hermione Granger simply wasn't used to in _any_ area of her mind. She knew her life, her background...or so she'd thought.

To find out that there were secrets in her past, or that of her parents and grandparents, was threatening to shake her very core.

Which is why she was so keen to stay close to Harry, to cling to the blinding beacon of strength he had become in her life. It was good to see him at purpose, set to task. The fact that his efforts and sacrifices were all for _her_ simply multiplied her gratitude and love by a factor of degrees. It satisfied her, and shied her, and humbled her. She doubted if she was worth it, thanked Merlin that she and Harry and found each other in the first place and developed this immovable bond between them.

It made her feel like an extremely blessed young witch.

"Harry...is there anything I can do?" asked Hermione, keen to help.

"No, just let me," Harry replied. "This is my house, if you like, so it should be my job to keep it in decent condition. Just in case."

 _No matter how much I hate coming here_ , Hermione thought he might have added. She knew that this, above all else, was the hardest thing for him. The memories of Sirius, his incarceration, the place where the last lie about him had been told...it brought back such pain. Hermione could see it etched into the lines of his face. But he was insistent.

Hermione's parents needed to be put somewhere safe...and Number Twelve Grimmauld Place was as good a spot as could be hoped for.

"You know, I think we should commission a portrait of Sirius," Harry blurted out suddenly. "Maybe two. One could stay here and we could take the other to Hogwarts. That way, he could take messages to your parents when we needed him to."

Hermione smiled sadly. She knew how much harry would like that, but it would never be a replacement for the real thing.

"Do you really think he'd like that, being a portrait _here_?" asked Hermione. "He never cared for the place. And, once it's safe for my parents again, he would be all alone here."

Harry's expression took on a pained hue. "Yes, I suppose you're right. But I intend to get the place liveable. Get rid of all the Dark stuff and trolls legs and elf heads. New furniture, bright paint, that sort of thing. It...it might be alright..."

Harry looked around forlornly, doubting his own words as he said them. Hermione rose and slipped her arms around his middle from behind, resting her forehead against the rise and fall of his shoulder blades.

"It's worth a try," she whispered supportively. "Anything has to be an improvement, hasn't it?"

Harry turned around and snaked his arms around Hermione's shoulders, pulling her tight to him. "This wont be forever," he hushed into her hair. "We'll make it safe somehow. I'll start working on Dumbledore to be more active, we'll do something to slow this horror. Then all will be well. I promise."

"Promise?" Hermione parroted, snuggling into the crook of Harry's neck.

 _"Ahem_ ," came a cough from the doorway. "Forgive me for interrupting. May we enter?"

Dumbledore's voice, spoken through Fawkes - who had appeared in the kitchen - disturbed Harry and Hermione's _moment_. Sighing, they broke apart reluctantly.

"Of course, Sir," said Harry. "Dobby, would you get the door, please? And conduct magical verification on all of them before you let them over the threshold."

"Including Miss Minnie's parents?" asked Dobby.

Harry guffawed at that as Hermione tutted next to him. "Yes, _especially_ them. Make sure they are safe before they enter."

And with that, Dobby popped away. Hermione slipped her arms from Harry's waist and looked at him with a cute frown. "And _you_...don't get any ideas about calling me _Miss Minnie_ any time soon, or I'll hex you all the way to your N.E.W.T's."

"Always the violent road with you these days, isn't it!" Harry chuckled. "I don't know where the love went, I really don't..."

Then he snapped his mouth shut quickly, as though he'd said the wrong thing. They looked away from each other, fitfully embarrassed, just as Dumbledore led Professor McGonagall and David and Catrin Granger into the dark kitchen of Grimmauld Place.

"Mum! Dad!" cried Hermione, running up and hugging her parents deeply. Over her shoulder, she could see Harry approaching Dumbledore.

"Thank you, Sir," she heard him whisper. "Thank you for bring them here safely. I was so worried for them..."

"As well you should have been," Dumbledore replied. "But they are safe now."

Harry turned to face the Granger party and cleared his throat. "I...I know it isn't much. But it's safe, that's the main thing. My house-elf, Dobby, and I will get it clean and in better condition as soon as we can. Sorry till then...I - I fear I've rather neglected the place..."

Hermione felt her heart break at the blatant shame in Harry's voice. She just had to stand up for him. "This house belonged to Harry's Godfather. We...lost him...just last year. I think I told you..."

"You did," said Catrin, sympathetically. "Thank you, Harry. This is extraordinarily kind of you."

"It's the least I can do," Harry replied quietly. "I wish I could do more..."

"This will do for now," said Hermione firmly. "Now...let's get to why you have to be protected in the first place. Project Horizon..."

Both Catrin and David shifted at the mention of the Project. Hermione wasn't enthused by their response.

"You've _heard_ of it, at least then," she fumed. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"We didn't ever really know what to say," David Granger offered. "We know only the basics ourselves."

"And what are they?" Hermione demanded, tapping her foot in her impatience.

Catrin and David exchanged glances. It was Catrin who took the gauntlet first.

"We didn't know much," she began. "Only that our Grandparents had been...different...and that their children _hadn't_ been."

Hermione gasped in shock. "You mean... _both_ your sets of parents were...were _Squibs?"_

Catrin and David nodded in affirmation. Hermione whined at the declaration.

"Look, sweetheart," said Catrin, desperately. "The anger and frustration you're feeling... _we_ felt it too, when we found out. To know that both my parents and David's were _magic-less_ witch and wizard couples...it shook both our worlds to their very foundations. Equally as much as our finding out that _you_ were a witch. We've had enough shocks to last multiple lifetimes!"

Hermione was dazed by the declaration. "So...you _knew_ about magic? You knew that I could be a witch?"

"We suspected," David confessed. "When odd things happened to you as a girl, we wondered...what if? But we could never be sure. Neither of our own parents went into much detail. I hardly need explain why."

"As Squibs they were shunned by magical kind," Dumbledore growled. "A failing in our society that we still struggle with."

"Exactly," Catrin agreed. "And not only that...this _Project_ they were part of...it affected them on a fundamental level. They were never comfortable talking about it. That's why we never see them these days."

"I don't understand," said Hermione, who had _never_ understood why all four of her Grandparents had shunned her for her entire life.

"They were afraid for you...and for themselves," David continued. "It is no coincidence that two sets of Squibs found love and married. Especially as _all four_ had been _'Horizon Children'_ , as they became known. Whatever happened to them...it was profound...and likely _horrific."_

"Do you know what it was?" Harry asked.

"Only on a very basic level," Catrin replied. "They were children born to magic...but _without_ it. It made them _curiosities_ , odd children that were worthy of _study_ , in the eyes of magical science, to explain their _deficiency._ "

Harry swore out loud. "It's more sodding Blood Purity crap, isn't it? More fucking magical eugenics Hippogriff-bollocks?"

"Harry! Language!" Hermione admonished. "My _parents..!_ "

"Don't care a jot if your boyfriend swears in front of us," David cried, cutting Hermione off at a stroke. "Your passion is admirable, Harry. _Never_ lose it...especially if it makes you animated in defence of my girl."

"I'd kick a hole in the sky for her, Sir," Harry retorted, fiercely. "Then duel the cosmic rays that dared to break through and threaten her!"

Hermione felt her heart skip at Harry's passionate words. She wanted to kiss him so badly in that moment.

"I'm glad to hear it," David smirked. "But, back to the topic at hand...my parents were Squibs, Catrin's folks the same...the chances of that seemed remote. And then _we_ got married, despite a ton of protests."

"Protests?" asked Hermione.

"Yes, and very suspicious they were, too," said Catrin. "My parents _loved_ David when we were dating...but as soon as I said we were engaged they just... _changed_."

"It was the same for my mum and dad," said David. "They seemed to think that a marriage between us would be a terrible thing."

"Naturally, we ignored them," Catrin continued. "It was all fine for a while...until I fell pregnant."

"That was when the distancing really started," said David. "We know, now, that they must have sensed something in you, Hermione. But they refused to tell us what. But not one of them wanted anything to do with you. Within six months of you being born, both sets of your Grandparents had emigrated. We only had one letter each to say they were safe, and that was it. We've not had any contact with either sets of our parents since."

"But why?" asked Harry, looking desperately pityingly at Hermione. "What did they know?"

"They never said, and we've never known who to ask," said Catrin. "It isn't the sort of thing one brings up in polite conversation."

Harry scoffed at that. "Dumbledore...you must have some idea about this?"

The wizened Headmaster sighed heavily. He took off his half-moon spectacles to clean as he thought how to respond.

"Yes, Harry...yes I do."

His tone was so heavy that Hermione knew this would be a difficult admission to hear.

"Just tell us what you know, Sir," Harry pressed in a gentle tone. "Hermione and her parents deserve to know...whatever it is."

"They do, indeed," Dumbledore agreed, smiling respectfully at Harry, which warmed Hermione's heart to see. "But...where to begin?"

"The _beginning_ is always the best place," Hermione cajoled. "Just tell us the truth, Headmaster."

"You are quite right," said Dumbledore. "Project Horizon...was a well-intentioned initiative, at least to begin with."

"To _begin with_?" asked Catrin.

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied. "It was designed to understand how the magical gene was rendered dormant in some children of otherwise magical birth. There was no understanding of the phenomenon when this research started. The problems began with the magical scientists assigned to the programme. They were, as Harry stated, magical eugenicists. They approached the problem as just that... _a problem._ A defect. Something to be fixed and _cured_. Not simply a natural outcome.

"They treated the subject as some _abnormality_. In much the same way as Harry's non-Magical family viewed his magical heritage. Bigotry is a disease that, unfortunately, infects all worlds."

"So, what were their aims?" asked Hermione.

"Primarily, as I understand it, to isolate the cause for magical _failure_ in children of magical parentage," said Dumbledore. "They wanted to understand how a child of a witch and a wizard could be devoid of magical power...especially when magical children were regularly born to Muggle parents or mixed-heritage couples. They felt this was something genetic, a defect that could be identified and perhaps even _suppressed_ in magical couples.

"So, they needed subjects for analysis and experimentation. Squibs were highly prized. In an act that shames our society, Squibs were outcast and ostracised by their own families, far more so than magical children of non-Magical or mixed parentage could ever claim to be. Squibs were treated like lepers and half-lives, condemned to a wretched existence for the most part.

"Project Horizon offered a hope, albeit a shrouded one. They invited _donations_ , even _paid for,_ Squib children for their research. They dressed it up as these Squibs having a use to science and society, even going so far as to suggest they could be _cured_ and be taught to use low-level magic."

"Like _QuikSpell_ ," said Harry, feeling an odd surge of pity for Argus Filch.

"Precisely," Dumbledore agreed. "But this was a fallacy, impossible to deliver. If there was a way to artificially boost magical power it would have been exploited a long, long time ago. As it is, such a thing does not exist."

"Then, this Project was a waste of time?" asked David. "But...our parents said they suffered."

Dumbledore's expression darkened. "Oh...I am quite sure they _did_. The tests and experiments on them would have been... _horrendous._ I have heard tales of flesh being magically burned, to test recovery rates; of twins being used...to compare the reaction of identical genetic bodies to...magical _stimulus_ ; there are stories of new potions and spells being tested on these poor souls...many of whom did not survive the ordeal, which didn't end with their deaths. Even their corpses were used in experiments of a _Necromantic nature_..."

Hermione fell into a nearby chair, a vile sickness rising in her throat. Harry was suddenly at her side, his fingers digging angrily into her shoulder. He was borderline hurting her, but she wanted to feel him, whatever form that took. Harry's protective touch was all that Hermione was certain of in her ever-changing world.

"But, none of this explains why our parents fled in such terror," said Catrin, who was very pale. "What was the reason for that?"

Dumbledore gripped a chair, the very notion in his mind causing such anger that pots rattled on a nearby shelf.

"One of the main areas of interest for these disturbed wizards was the outcome of procreation," said Dumbledore. "Remember, if you will, that Squibs are the non-Magical offspring of a witch and wizard - an anomaly this Project sought to explain. So, one aspect that fascinated them was the magical potential of the union of two Squibs. Magic had not flourished in _them_...but what would happen if they had _children_ of their own?"

Hermione yelped at Dumbledore's words and Harry dug into her shoulder deeper still.

"Initially, they experimented with _artificially_ breeding offspring," said Dumbledore. "But even at the embryo stage the wizards could detect no magical signature. These embryos were then...disposed of. The theory went that the birth had to be _natural_...whatever warped definition that was. So...they put in place plans to _force_ the Squib subjects to...essentially... _mate."_

"Oh my sweet Merlin!" Harry cried.

"Was...was this how we came to be born?" asked David, gesturing between himself and Catrin.

"Alas, no," said Dumbledore. "At least, not in the way that was intended. The Project was exposed and shut down before it reached that stage. However, the poor Squibs involved in it somehow gravitated towards one another in later life. Few in our society could understand what they had suffered, so they found solace in each other.

"And, in the case of Miss Granger's Grandparents, they found love and marriage."

Hermione swallowed hard and cleared her throat. "I...I think I get it."

"Get _what_ , sweetheart?" asked Catrin.

"Nanna and Bampi...both lots...they knew they had magical ancestry," Hermione began. Thoughts were racing fast, tumbling over each other to get out. "They had heard the theory about what their own children might be like...they might be magical...and they were afraid. Because, if that turned out to be true, it might validate all the research..."

"Oh..." said Harry, the dark horror of comprehension in his voice. "And if _that_ was the case...all the studies would start up again! They'd want to experiment on _their_ kids...to see how they had _become_ magical from two Squibs!"

"Exactly," Hermione moaned. "And, as Mum and Dad were _both_ born from Squib couples...but weren't magic themselves...then _I_ turned out to be a witch..."

"That would make _you_ even more unique!" Harry cried. "They'd want to cut you up and analyse _you_! Well, fuck _that_! They will have to get through _me_ first, and Merlin help them if they try!"

Hermione was utterly terrified by the revelation, but Harry's staunch defence of her was comforting. She squeezed his hand on her shoulder, the knuckles of which were white in his rage.

"No-one will harm Miss Granger on my watch," said Dumbledore, his tone so fierce that Hermione wanted to hug him in thanks, her doubts about Harry's mentor forgotten a moment.

"And her parents are safe here," said McGonagall. "As of this moment, only the people in this room know about this place. Dumbledore has invoked a Privacy Renewal on his Fidelius Charm. Anyone that _did_ know about the house has now forgotten all about it."

"And I can keep my secrets," said Dumbledore, stoutly. "I promise you both...you could not be safer."

"Thank you," said David, warmly. "I thank all of you. What you've done for us..."

"There is one thing we haven't done," said Harry, suddenly. "And that's to make you a pot of tea! Dobby! I need your help."

Hermione smiled at that, allowing her mind to relax a little. It needed to, for it was in danger of imploding if she didn't inject _some_ normality into it.

And a pot of tea was as normal a start point as any.

* * *

After such a hectic day putting Hermione's parents into the relative safety of Grimmauld Place, Harry was quite keen for a downturn in his stress levels. He caught himself oddly longing for extensive homework assignments, for tricky classes to occupy his thoughts, for hallway gossip about him and Hermione to diffuse in his spare time. Hell, he would even have taken an adolescent spat with Ron at this point. Anything to remind him that there was a world beyond Voldemort's subtle take-over the magical Britain. Something even _remotely_ normal.

But Harry's life wouldn't be what it was if it had any of _those_ things.

So it really should have come as little surprise as, barely three days later, Harry found himself in animosity once again. This time it happened in the Courtyard outside the first-floor Ancient Runes classrooms. He and Hermione had just left their morning period class and were debating just which of the Runes most resembled Harry's scar. It was a straight toss-up between _Hagalaz_ (which Hermione favoured) and _Sowilo_ and neither Harry nor Hermione were prepared to concede in the argument, with both firmly adamant that they were right.

Their playful banter was interrupted by the sight which greeted them in the Courtyard. The mood darkened as they clocked eyes on at least a dozen grey-robed students huddled around the plinth at the centre of the square. Harry noticed Ginny Weasley's ruler-straight, rusty hair amongst the number, worryingly close to the ice-blonde locks of Draco Malfoy. The rest were a blend of Slytherins and Ravenclaws, a mix that caused Harry unexpected disquiet.

Malfoy happened to look up just then. He caught Harry's eye with a malicious look. "Oh, Potter. Come here. You might appreciate this."

"I doubt it," Harry growled, unable to resist the obvious bait. Hermione went with him, tucked in close at his side. Harry noticed Hermione's other hand slip into her robe, and Harry would have bet his left nut that it was unsheathing her wrist-holstered wand. It didn't fill him with optimism.

"No, you'll like this," Malfoy sneered. He flicked a snarl at Hermione. "So will you, Muggle-blood."

"Watch your mouth, you inbred, bigoted little shit," Harry hissed acidly. "Mummy and Daddy aren't here to protect that little ferret-hide of yours."

Malfoy coloured slightly. "I haven't forgotten _that_ bloody stunt, by the way, poor little Orphan-Boy. Just remember that."

"I'm _so_ scared," Harry mocked. "Hermione, can you tell how scared I am?"

Hermione nodded. "Yep. I can practically smell you crapping yourself. Or maybe that's just Malfoy's Death Eater perfume. _Eau de Arsehole."_

Malfoy made half a move towards Hermione. Harry stepped across him and blocked his path, eye-balling him practically forehead-to-forehead. He could see those grey eyes vibrating they were so close. The courtyard had fallen silent, the tension palpable.

"Try it," Harry breathed. "I'll snap your neck before you even get _close_. I wont even need my wand. But...just in case..."

Harry jabbed his Holly and Phoenix Feather weapon into Malfoy's abdomen, where it had rested after Harry snapped it into action. His rage pulsed around them like an electric storm front, even ruffling the trees nearby. Malfoy physically shook in fear, which made Harry's smirk even wider.

"Back up, you racist filth," Harry spat, his magic building like a cyclone. "Before I eject your spleen all over those pretty new robes of yours."

"Who knew Mudbloods would make you so _hot_ , Harry! If only I'd known...I'd have bought a costume..."

Harry went to react, but Hermione beat him to it. Her wand was out in such a speedy flash that even Harry nodded in appreciation. Hermione flicked a spell at Ginny, that produced a zipper across her mouth. Ginny, incensed, tried to open it, but Hermione cast again, replacing the zipper with a solid metal brace. Ginny struggled against it, but it wouldn't budge.

"There, that's _so_ much better!" Hermione exclaimed. "Have I ever told you how utterly _annoying_ your voice is? This is quite the improvement."

Ginny cursed and swore, but they were all confined to her throat. Harry let out a barking laugh as he watched her struggle against the powerful restriction of Hermione's magic.

"I don't think I've ever been quite as hot for you as I am now," Harry let himself say, shattering the unspoken barrier he and Hermione had erected to such talk. It just seemed the moment.

"Me too," Hermione swooned. "After this is done, I think we should take a bath. Clothing optional."

Ginny's muffled curses became even more vitriolic. Harry just laughed even louder.

"Deal. We might even let that pervy mermaid _watch,"_ said Harry, curtailing his mirth. "But first of all, this piece of blood-supremacist dragon shit was going to show me something. Lead on, Miss Malfoy."

Malfoy snarled again, regaining some of his ire. "I wasn't kidding, Potter, you will _love_ this. Take a look."

Harry, morbidly curious, looked down at the plinth. There, standing quite innocuously, was a thick sheet of pale mauve crystal, about as big as your average pillow. It wasn't _doing_ anything, but Harry could feel a low intensity throb of energy coming from it. For a reason he couldn't fathom, Harry found it unsettling. It was as though the frequency of the vibration was reaching right into his brain.

"Be careful, Harry," Hermione cried. She sounded frightened. "Whatever that is, I don't like it."

"As well you shouldn't," Malfoy sneered, his old swagger returning now Harry's wand was out of his flesh. "My Aunt Bella made this...and you aren't exactly the target audience."

"What is it?" asked Harry, though most of his sense didn't want to know.

"A new invention," Malfoy simpered. "You see, my lovely Aunt Bella has been put in charge of a new branch of the Ministry - the Department of Public Information. And she's decided to redress a missing link in magical media - visual communication. Wizarding Wireless is all very well, but _seeing is believing_ , as they say. So my Aunt has commissioned _this_. A visual broadcasting device that can reach right into people's homes...and _beyond._ They call it _Spell-O-Vision._ Ingenious, no?"

"So, that crazily insane Aunt of yours has, basically, stolen another invention from the _Muggle World!"_ Hermione taunted, angrily. "How _progressive_ of her! What's next? Fast Food? Mobile Phones? _The Wheel? Fire...?"_

"Shut your dirty mouth!" Malfoy yelled. "You'll be sorry! Soon, there will be Spell-O-Vision sets in every home, then the likes of you will be _finished_!"

Harry wanted to laugh it off, but there was such dark sincerity to Malfoy's words that Harry stumbled a moment. He was hinting...Harry was sensible of that. But of what?

"Finished?" Harry taunted. "You and what army?"

"We won't _need_ an army _,_ Potter," Malfoy snickered. "That's the beauty of it. The crystals are quartz, you see. Great memory properties. They remember where they come from. My Aunt has a Master Crystal, which she can programme. It will send out information about the purity of our Master Race, the defects and pollution of the Muggle and Muggleborn. The disgust we all feel about the Mudblood Agenda. Parents will be turning their own kids over in shame, neighbours will rat out their neighbours. It will be _beautiful._

"And at the end, the Pureblood Elite will stand proud, leading the way into the new world. All isn't lost for you, Potter. There is still time for redemption. You will be welcomed into the New Order, our Lord Voldemort will pardon your transgressions. You come from firm stock...and you wont be the only Wizard tempted by the promise of a bit of filthy Muggle pussy. It's easy tail to chase. Though you could have picked one that actually _pretended_ to be a girl..."

Harry could take no more. He didn't even know what spell he cast, but Draco Malfoy was suddenly not standing before him. His prostrate form was slumped twenty feet away, having been slammed with considerable force into a brick wall nearby. For a moment, no-one moved.

Then chaos erupted.

Screams and shouts rented the air. Wands flashed into view all around, and Harry didn't need to know if they were aimed at him or Hermione. They had been drawn in anger in Hermione's general vicinity, that was all that mattered. Harry stopped, drew breath, and considered the options

And not for nothing was Harry taking Duelling classes with ex-World Champion Filius Flitwick and Albus Dumbledore himself.

Harry Potter was well known at Hogwarts for many things. Recovering the Philosophers Stone and killing Professor Quirrell? Check. Slaying a thirty-foot Basilisk? Check. Winning the Triwizard Tournament and matching Lord Voldemort in a Duel in the same night? Double check.

Now he would also be known for hospitalising ten Grey Robe Students with a single volley of spells.

For not a single one of the little bastards even managed to get a Charm off. Not one. Not even _a bit_ of one. For the very act of reacting to a threat, against the girl he loved most in the universe, meant that Harry ventured onto a different plateau of magical potency. He cast so fast, and so viciously, that his wand was a mere blur. Later, Hermione would tell him that she was convinced he had cast _non-verbally_ without instruction, which was obscene in its level of unheard-of-ness in her estimation.

And that was quite something.

But one member of the crowd had managed to escape Harry's unstoppable fury. Somehow, Ginny had broken free of Hermione's bind. She pulled her wand and raised it half an arm in Harry's direction. But not without merit was Hermione Granger viewed as the most powerful witch of her peer group, perhaps even the world-age in general.

And on no account would a vacuous little tramp like Ginny Weasley get the jump on said witch's boyfriend.

Hermione flashed a Cutting Curse at Ginny, carving a nice groove from her lip to earlobe. Ginny screeched out in high-pitched agony as Hermione's spell sliced through her flesh. Blood gushed freely from the wound and Ginny dropped her wand to clutch at her scored cheek. The look she gave Hermione was one of pure loathing.

"You've gone too far this time, you dirty-blooded bitch," Ginny yelped, tears streaming from her eyes. "You wait...I've seen the Re-Education Camps. I've seen little Muggleborn girls like you, ones who might have come to Hogwarts next year...little girls with stupid hair like yours...hair that gets cut off and tested on. I will _make sure_ you join them, you mark my words. I'll make your filthy Muggle mother braid your hair, put all her love into making it pretty, then I'll slice it off myself with a blunt knife, make it hurt as much as I can. I'll put that loving little pigtail in with all the rest...make your mother _watch_ as your worthless life is ended at a Burning Stake. You're finished, Granger, you hear me... _finished_!"

And with that, Ginny ran off, hurling yet more curses in her wake.


	15. The Crux of the Matter

"Well, I've got the Infirmary secured, and Poppy has all the injured students comfortable enough," McGonagall frowned, closing the door to Dumbledore's office as she entered. "Miss Weasley will need a few days of Healing, but even that may not be enough to permanently remove the damage. She will likely have a nice scar there when all is said and done."

Harry smiled inwardly. A _nice scar_ indeed. He was unmoved under his Regent's inquisitive gaze.

"Her _mouth,_ on the other hand, will take a good deal longer to cleanse," McGonagall went on. "She had some very choice things to say about you, Harry…about _both of you,_ in fact."

Harry looked to his right, where Hermione simply shrugged back at him, equally as nonplussed by McGonagall's questions. They both returned her stare resolutely, not in the slightest bit ashamed. That might have been enough to pacify McGonagall, who had more than a mere fleeting interest in their affairs, but Dumbledore would not be so easily pacified.

"So, the matter of just _why_ my Hospital Wing is thronging with students has arrived at last," the Headmaster quirked, a startling lightness to his tone. "Would either of you like to offer up an explanation, or shall I just form my own conclusions on the case?"

"A group of students, who all follow the doctrines of pure-blood mania, threatened my girlfriend," Harry began sternly. "I reacted in the defence of her. And I hope I _really_ hurt them."

"Oh, I am quite certain you did," Dumbledore replied. "Madame Pomfrey informs me that I need to order a new batch of Skele-Gro…for her stocks will be severely depleted by the time her work is finished tonight."

Harry scoffed. "Order a _lot,_ Sir. I have a feeling this will become a trend."

"I sincerely hope it does not," said Dumbledore, seriously. "Harry, I cannot have you reacting with such violence, no matter the provocation. You are receiving - and excelling in - specialist duelling training. I did not intend for this to be used against fellow students."

"But you _will_ let a cowardly, filthy gang of my fellow students abuse and threaten others without punishment?" Harry cried, his ire soaring. "All for not toeing the most disgusting line ever seen here. Professor…if you know me at all, you know I won't stand for that."

"Indeed, Harry, I do know," said Dumbledore. He rose and moved to Fawkes, stroking his ebullient plume. "But we must tread very carefully where this new movement is concerned. Provoking them may be worse for those they target in the long run."

"Worse?" asked Hermione, cautiously. "How so?"

Dumbledore considered her over his half-moon glasses. "Right now, they are talking and threatening. It is goading, and worrying, but right now it is not _hurting_ anything but pride and sensibility."

"But _reacting_ to these petty acts may only escalate matters," McGonagall added.

"Exactly," said Dumbledore. "The number of students in this group is rising steadily, and each one is a potential conduit of information out of Hogwarts."

"Student spies, you mean," Hermione huffed angrily.

"Essentially," Dumbledore nodded. "And there are some powerful forces at work behind this group. This is not some playground spat. The power behind all this has no qualm in enlisting children to do their shady work where they cannot. Use that as an entry level moral…and imagine how much worse it could get."

"Students could be forcibly expelled, taken for 'assessments' and never seen again," said McGonagall. "The young members of the Grey Robes will likely be making a note of all those who oppose them. We _must_ ensure that as few students as possible make those lists."

"All the while doing nothing to stop their activities?" asked Harry, incredulously. "What's the point, if they are likely to be targeted anyway? We need to _fight_ …while we still have something to fight for."

"I'm with Harry on this," said Hermione, smiling at him in fierce support. "No offence, Professors, but you aren't at any sort of immediate risk. _I_ am." She raised her arm, to show the bright yellow band with the big letter 'M' around her bicep. "And if the Grey Robes, or anyone else, comes for me, I'd like to think that more will be done in response than simply admonishing Daphne Greengrass for writing my name on a stupid list."

"Daphne?" McGonagall queried. "You suspect her?"

"She's one of Parkinson's cackle of hags in Slytherin," Hermione spat acridly. "I saw her buddying up to Ginny Weasley and Marietta Edgecombe the other day. They have all been raised under the ideals of Pureblood dogma…and I have previous with _that_ dicey little witch."

"Previous?" asked Dumbledore.

"Marietta caught the nasty end of a curse of mine, one I used to protect the secrecy of members of the group we called _the DA_ last year," Hermione explained, blushing shyly.

"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "My own _personal army_ , I believe?"

"The same," Hermione answered, grinning a little. "It will be a _long_ time before she gets over that. But it serves her right, for being such a _sneaky_ little snake, if you ask me."

"Quite," Dumbledore agreed, lightly. "And you think Miss Edgecombe is acting with the Grey Robes, even though she doesn't don their distinguishing attire? Perhaps as some sort of _recruiter?_ "

"It was just an idea," Hermione replied, in a shy little voice. "I mean, they don't exactly advertise for members, do they? But their numbers are growing, as you said. _Someone_ must be vetting them."

Harry just looked at her admiringly, wondering where her mind came up with such deductions. The thought hadn't even _occurred_ to him. Hermione flushed under his look, charged with such potent adoration as it was.

"Impressing sleuthing," Dumbledore complimented. "We shall have to keep an eye on Miss Edgecombe, and others. Each obvious member could have a contact, a handler if you like, that operates in the shadows."

"And Hogwarts has lots of shadows, Sir," said Harry. He was forging an idea. "Perhaps we need to do a little surveillance of our own."

"What are you suggesting?" asked Dumbledore.

"We have some experience of _vetting_ ourselves," said Harry, inclining his head at Hermione. "As well as developing operations of subterfuge and counter-resistance. Perhaps it's time we used them for what they were intended."

"You're thinking of restarting the DA," said Hermione intuitively. "Using it against the Grey Robes?"

"Only the ones we trust," said Harry. "And, at this point, that list is very thin. But we need eyes around the castle. If only for intelligence gathering. We need to be prepared for when this gets worse…and we all know it will."

Dumbledore pierced Harry with a sparkling look. "You are right, Harry. I will permit this, and entrust it to you and your discretion. But recruit selectively, perhaps no more than ten to twelve members. People you trust explicitly. Write nothing down, make no records."

"But how will I tell you anything?" asked Harry, confused.

"Every week, at your Occlumency lessons, I will extract the memories from you," Dumbledore offered. "It is a secret and secure way for us to share information."

"Okay," said Harry. "And what will you do with the information?"

Dumbledore's eyes glittered with uncharacteristic malevolence. "You aren't the only only experienced in secretive resistance. If we learn anything useful, I will pass it on to my contacts. We are in preparation ourselves, of course."

"For what, Sir?" asked Hermione.

"To set magical Britain ablaze," Dumbledore replied darkly. "We may not be able to stop this _transition_ , but we can give the enemy a bloody nose or two along the way."

* * *

"Well, this is plush. Certainly a lot nicer than the Tower. Maybe there's something in being a Prefect after all."

"Evening, Neville, come on in."

Hermione bowed Neville into the Prefects Communal Area, where Harry stood to greet him.

"Did anyone see you come here?" asked Harry.

"Maybe, but no-one really cared," said Neville, his eyes glinting cheekily. "Me and Ennie just fell up the stairs in a _very_ passionate kissing session."

"Which is old news to everyone now!" Hermione laughed. "Hi, Enola."

"Evening," Enola replied cheerily, following Neville into the room. "And it was a sesh that I was _quite_ enjoying, actually, if you don't mind. So I hope this is worth interrupting it for."

"It is," said Harry, solemnly. "Please sit. Butterbeer?"

"Cheers, Harry," said Neville, cracking open a bottle that Harry slid to him across the table, as all four sat down. "So…what's this all about?"

Harry and Hermione exchanged dark glances.

"Where to start?" said Harry, more to Hermione than the others.

"How about the Prophecy?" she replied.

"Yeah," said Neville. "You never did tell me what that was all about."

"No, I didn't, did I?" said Harry. "Things just got so crazy, so quickly. Okay, so here it is - the Prophecy, that we went to the Ministry for last year, was about me…actually, about me and Voldemort. Long and short of it, I'm fated to kill him."

Neville nearly choked on his butterbeer. Even Enola went ashen pale, which was startling, as she was naturally porcelain-coloured to begin with.

"Can you say that _again?_ " Neville breathed. "Only it sounded like you said _you_ have to _kill_ him."

"That is what he said," Hermione replied. She looked at Harry, her gaze a mix of pity and profound support. "And I intend to be right there when he does it."

Harry grinned shyly in response.

"But…but… _how?"_ Neville stuttered. "And how does this involve _me?_ You said it did."

"The Prophecy said that a child born towards the end of July, whose parents had defied Voldemort three times, would be marked by him as his equal. Only two boys fit that description…me and you…and, well," Harry lifted his fringe and pointed to his forehead. "The rest is history."

"But we've come to the idea that _both_ of you were special," said Hermione, taking over. "Voldemort could just as easily have chosen you, Neville."

"Exactly," said Harry, enthusiastically. "I don't think it's a coincidence that your parents were attacked, just as mine were. It might have happened at the same time. Voldemort chose me to _mark…_ but he targeted you, too. There must be good reason for that. Which is why I've wanted to get you onside, Nev. It's really important that anyone who _can_ work against Voldemort _does_. Now more than ever."

"And you think _I_ can?" Neville returned in a low croak. "But…I'm nothing…I'm a rubbish wizard, everyone says so."

"You are _not_ a rubbish wizard!" Enola cried suddenly. "Who said that? Let them tell _me_ that, and see what happens!"

There was such vitriol in her tone that Hermione felt an instant rush of affection for Enola. No-one ever defended Neville, it was warming to see someone finally doing it. Hermione was very fond of Enola just then.

"Everyone says it, don't they, Harry?"

"I don't say it," Harry replied firmly, meeting Neville's stare with fierce resolution.

"No, nor do I," Hermione nodded. "And Professor Sprout says your innate skills in Herbology border on the _elemental._ So you aren't great at Potions or flying. Who cares? Nobody's perfect, Neville."

"Though you do a fair impression of it," Harry winked at her.

"Hush you," said Hermione, her cheeks flaming as she smiled back at him. "Anyway, as we are trying to point out, you are _not_ rubbish. Far from it."

"And since you've gotten your own wand, I hear that your general skill is improving, in all your classes," said Harry. "Dumbledore was telling me a lot of the teachers are commending your improvement."

"They are?" Neville grinned, his face flushing to match Hermione's. For _her_ part, she beamed at Harry. She wasn't sure if he was telling the truth or not, but it was the sort of white lie told to boost someone that Harry was prone to. She felt such a sense of adoration for him, as she stared into his face, that she was mindless with it for a second.

"Yeah," Harry went on. "I have private lessons with him, and he told me."

"Well…I _do_ feel better with my own wand," said Neville, thoughtfully. "My old one was always resisting me, trying to do its own thing. It never trusted me, or me it."

"Which explains everything," said Hermione. "Even if you borrow a wand, it might not perform as well as your own one. It's an extension of you, so far as I understand the lore, so you and the core of the wand develop a symbiosis. Now that you've finally gotten that, your natural power is starting to show."

"I suppose," said Neville. He still looked doubtful.

"Which is why I want to work more closely with you," said Harry. "The Prophecy not only linked me and Voldemort, and him and you…but _me and you_ too. We are Brothers in Prophecy. Now you have your own wand your power is rising…and we can work together and see if we can't give Lord Voldemort something to lose sleep over."

"I'm still not sure," said Neville. "My wand can't be _that_ important to my magic, can it?"

"It's true," said Enola. "Take my wand, for example." She drew it from her cloak sleeve. It was sheer whitewood, about ten inches, and emerged with a sweep of magic that caused everyone's hair to ruffle as if in a heavy breeze. "Oh…sorry. I hope that didn't hurt. I'm terribly clumsy."

"It tickled," Hermione grinned. "But go on."

"You see, in my coven, we had to _fashion_ our own wands," Enola explained. "It was the only way to develop a true relationship of trust and respect with natural magic. The process took years. As soon as we were old enough, we had to spend hours meditating in sacred forests, trying to connect with our natural spirit guides, of flora and fauna. It took me four years to discover that whitewood spruce was my sacred wood."

"Fascinating," Hermione said in wonder. "May I?"

"Of course," said Enola, handing her wand over.

Hermione inspected it critically. "I can certainly feel the power in it. What's the core?"

"Powdered claw of the Cwn Annfwn," Enola replied. "They are the red-eared fairy hounds who live in the Welsh Underworld. They chase wrongdoers and hunt them into the ground, and if they come to you in friendship they expect you to do the same."

"I think we can trust her, Harry!" Hermione laughed, handing the wand back to Enola.

"Good, that's what we brought you here to find out," said Harry, turning to the others.

"Come on, Harry, out with it. The suspense is killing me," Neville chortled.

"What we are going to ask you to do might lead to the same."

Harry fixed Neville with a serious stare. It seemed to turn Neville to cold iron. He nodded in firm acquiescence.

"That's just my game. Go on."

"We've all seen these Grey Robes going round the school," Harry began.

"We have," Enola quirked. "But we've seen _less_ of them today. I hear we have you to thank for that."

"I'm nothing if not a living legend," Harry grinned back. "Anyway, I'm concerned about how fast they are growing, and the influence they are starting to wield."

"Things are bad now, but we think they will get a hundred times worse," said Hermione. "And soon."

"And, I suppose, for someone with _your_ background, that's a worry," Neville muttered solemnly.

Hermione nodded. "Me and all others like me."

Neville growled angrily. "I assume you have a plan to fight it?"

"There's my buddy," Harry barked. "We are trying to develop one. But we need people we can trust. These Grey Robes are everywhere…and we aren't just talking about the ones we can see."

"Meaning?" asked Enola.

"Meaning," said Hermione. "That for every student in a grey robe, there could be at least two more who are collecting information or trying to recruit others to the movement. Our list of allies is a short one right now."

"What we need to do is gather our own intelligence," said Harry. "We need to know who's on our side, and who isn't. If the Grey Robes step up their control campaign, we need to be ready."

"So you need spies," said Neville. He looked bright with fervour. "Count me in. I've been _itching_ to get involved"

"Me too," said Enola. "But us four wont be enough. We'll need others."

"We know," said Hermione. "Our goal is to get two people from each House. A boy and a girl from each if possible. We are drawing up a list. We intend you to be our Gryffindor Agents."

"Well, if it's _seeing_ you need, I might be able to help with that," said Enola, her eyes flashing.

"Of course!" Harry cried. "Celesca! Do you think she will help us? I was going to ask our friend, Luna. She moves around without people paying her much attention. She'd be perfect for this."

"Yeah, I think she would," said Enola. "And if she agrees, Cesc definitely will. They've gotten very…er… _close_...if you know what I mean."

"What!" Neville shouted, snapping his head around. "You never told me _that!_ "

"It's not my secret to tell," said Enola, unabashed. "And it isn't yours either, so please don't say anything."

"Oh, I wont," said Neville. "But you can't ask me not to _think_ about it. They're both _very_ pretty girls, if you know what _I_ mean…"

Hermione and Enola exchanged a look of damning pity, and an expression that quite clearly said ' _typical boy'_. Hermione looked at Harry, but he had suddenly become very interested in the label on his Butterbeer bottle and didn't raise his eyes to meet Hermione's little frown. She clucked her tongue at him, but he kept his head resolutely still.

"Okay, we'll leave recruiting Celesca to _you,_ Enola," said Hermione, her tone cross and irritated. "Harry will go to Luna, once he's _grown up_."

Harry finally raised his head. "Sorry, that was childish of me. Yes, I'll go and speak to Luna later. What we had in mind was a sort of Special Operations Executive, made up of members of the DA that we can trust. Along with our new recruits, obviously."

Harry tilted his bottle in Enola's direction in a gesture of salute.

"Well, we will be members Three and Four then," said Neville stoutly. "How are we going to do this?"

"Take these," said Harry. He handed them two quartz pendants. "These are Memory Crystals. If you hear or see anything interesting, tap your wand to the pendant and cast the spell ' _Memento'._ It will record the memory, then give the pendant to me. I know how to extract the memory. Don't write anything down, don't create any sort of trail that might lead back to you."

"And don't take any unnecessary risks," Hermione added, seriously. "Don't go out of your way to find things. Not yet. For now, we just want information. Lets try and do this with our presence going unnoticed."

"It wont last forever, but let's stick to the shadows for now," said Harry. "What I want you to focus on, Nev, is Ron. Ginny Weasley is deep into this, and we need to now where Ron stands. He's a little bit of a conundrum right now. Keep an eye on him, see if you can tell how the land lies with him."

"But be constantly vigilant," said Hermione. "Ron might let something slip to us, but he's also as suspicious and paranoid as they come. He could do the same in the other direction. We cant trust anyone…apart from each other…and whoever else we bring in. Remember that."

The four of them nodded in silent agreement. It felt like a covenant had settled between them, the severity of the situation suddenly becoming that bit more real.

But, at least it had begun.

* * *

It was a couple of days before Harry managed to approach Luna with his request. She was surprisingly hard to find, like some elusive sprite who did her own thing around the castle. The end of the school week proved fruitless to locate her, so it was Sunday afternoon by the time Harry left a revising Hermione with a swift kiss, before heading out on his Luna-hunt with fresh determination in his mind.

He checked the usual spots - the Great Hall, courtyard, all the magical recreation locations - to no avail. She wasn't likely to be at the Quidditch pitch, but Harry checked anyway. She wasn't feeding Hippogriffs or the Giant Squid, and Harry was starting to get slightly concerned that something had happened to her, when he suddenly spotted a blonde-headed figure down by the boathouse.

Without taking his eyes off her, Harry hurried down the narrow stone stairs to reach the jetty. A few moments later and he was coming up on the boathouse proper, and finally reached his quarry shortly after that.

"There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you!" Harry panted, reaching the end of the little pier.

Luna turned her head, her wide-eyes looking more surprised than ever, and that was saying something.

"Oh…were you?" she asked, as surprised as if someone told her she'd been awarded a thousand galleons simply for being blonde. "That's nice. Why?"

Harry chuckled and sat down next to her. Luna had her little shoes off, her white socks stuffed awkwardly into them, and was merrily kicking her feet in the water. Harry was drawn to how _tiny_ her toes were. It was an odd thing to notice, but he did.

"Isn't the water cold?" Harry asked, looking out across the Lake, which was a sullen sort of grey today.

"A little, but I don't mind it," Luna smiled sweetly. "Why have you been looking for me? Am I in trouble?"

"No, of course not," said Harry, bemused.

"Oh, that's alright then. Are _you?_ "

"No," Harry laughed. "Unless you count my going with out Hermione Granger. That's a _sort_ of trouble all of its own!"

Luna blinked at him pleasantly. Harry hesitated at her look…was it right to get her involved with something so dangerous, as he was about to suggest? Luna was so innocent, she ought not to be infected by the gathering darkness. But, as Harry reasoned with his next thought, if the evil of Voldemort spread, _everyone_ would be affected by it, innocent or not.

And Harry couldn't shake the impact of Luna in the Department of Mysteries battle last year. Besides himself, she alone had emerged unscathed. That told a secret story all of its own…this girl could handle herself.

"What is it then, Harry?" Luna pressed. "What have you been looking for me for?"

"I need to ask you something, but it's secret and dangerous and I don't know if I should," Harry confessed.

"Is this about being a spy? I'd be honoured to help!"

She said it so matter-of-factly that Harry nearly toppled into the water in his surprise.

"How do you know that?" Harry asked.

"Cesc told me," said Luna easily. "Her friend, Enola, has already asked her, and she said you might ask me. We tell each other everything. She's my girlfriend now, did you know? I do like her ever so much."

Harry's astonishment wasn't lessening. "No, I…I didn't know that. Wowser."

"Are you surprised, that I like witches?" asked Luna, sweetly.

"No, no of course not," said Harry, who found himself _unusually_ surprised. "I don't suppose I've ever really thought too much about it."

"No, neither had I," said Luna, thoughtfully. "Then I met Celesca and it sort of _clicked_. She said she didn't like girls…like _that_ …either, before me. So I think I'm quite lucky, really."

"Wow," said Harry, scratching his chin in wonder. "So, she knows…about the _spying_ thing?"

"Oh yes, she told me all about it."

"And…what does she think?"

"She's going to help, of course," said Luna. "And so will I. Oh, Harry…I'm ever so pleased you asked me to join you! I so like to be helpful. I wont let you down, I promise."

"I know you wont," said Harry supportively. "That's why I thought of you right away. I can't think of many people I trust more. Hermione, of course, but not many more. If any."

Luna beamed so bright it was like she was her own little star. "Oh…I trust you, too, Harry! It is scary, though. And dangerous."

"Very," said Harry. "Which I why I want you to promise me you'll be careful. Promise."

"I promise," said Luna, faithfully. "But, what do you want me to look out for?"

"Right now we just want to know who is working with the Grey Robes, and who might be on our side," said Harry. "But we have to do it quietly, from the shadows. We don't want them to know who we are or what we're doing."

"No, we wouldn't want that," Luna agreed. "I have a few ideas already, I'll write them down -"

"NO!" Harry cried hotly. "Don't record anything like that. Here, take these."

He handed Luna a couple of Memory Pendants and repeated the instructions he'd given to Neville and Enola.

"Whoever you suspect, _think_ about them, and cast the spell so the _thought_ enters the Pendant," said Harry. "We have to assume the Grey Robes will eventually get wind of us, and try to find out what we know. If you have no evidence to incriminate you, you'll be alright."

"Okay, Harry. I'll be careful."

"Are you sure you want to to this, it's your last chance to back out," said Harry.

"Evil flourishes when good witches do nothing," said Luna, her voice drifting on the breeze. "I'm a good witch, Harry…and I can't sit by and do nothing. If I can help, I want to. Don't worry about me…I'm tougher than I look."

"I know _that_ , I saw you at the Ministry," said Harry. "You fought badder than twenty trained Aurors. I was so proud of you. I should have told you that sooner. I'm sorry."

Then Luna did something totally unexpected…she reached over and hugged Harry. Hugged him with such affection that Harry felt it rush all through him. It rendered him speechless.

"Thank you, Harry…thank you," Luna breathed gently into his shoulder. "You're the greatest wizard, you really are. I'm lucky to be your friend."

Harry just hugged her back, unable to reply. This was a bizarre magic, pure and paralysing all at once. It was like being in an envelope of gratitude and friendship, utterly pleasant and comfortable.

It was something worth fighting evil forces to defend.

After a moment, Luna disengaged herself and went back to her contented paddling. Harry watched her a moment, then stood to leave.

"I'm going to go now," he said. "Take care, Luna."

"Yes. I will."

"And tell Celesca thank you from me. I really appreciate the risk she's taking."

"She knows," said Luna dreamily. "She _always_ knows. But I'll still tell her, if you like."

"Please do. Where is she today?"

"With her mother," said Luna. "When she has her period, her Seer powers are at their worst for her. She's in terrible pain, and only Professor Roth can help her stay in one piece. I'm ever so worried about her."

Harry felt his heart bleed a little. Fear wasn't an aspect that belonged in Luna's ethereal tone of voice. But there is was, and it struck Harry like an arrow to the chest.

"I'm sure she will be okay," said Harry, in hope as much as anything. He didn't know nearly enough to make an assertive judgement on the matter. Celesca Roth was such an enigma of a girl.

Luna didn't reply, but Harry could feel her smiling sadly to herself. It felt time to leave her to her thoughts, so Harry slipped quietly away and made his way back along the jetty and towards the castle. Hogwarts seemed strangely quiet as Harry moved around it, the corridors oddly muted. There was no distant chatter, no students running about, it was as if Harry had stepped into another time.

And then, he heard it…a voice…as if coming from the wall itself.

" _It wont hurt…just a test…only a little cut, really…."_

Harry stopped, his heart thudding hard. He suddenly felt like he was twelve-years-old again, and standing in this _very_ corridor…hearing an altogether different disembodied voice…

"Okay. Stay calm, Harry…the basilisk is dead," Harry said aloud. But still…that voice.

Harry took a breath and moved a bit further, as far as the next torch, when another voice spoke. A woman's this time. She sounded frightened.

_"No…no I won't do it…I won't be another one of your experiments, Albus…"_

Albus? Harry's heart erupted again, but not necessarily at the mention of the Hogwarts Headmaster. But it was the voice…the voice of the frightened woman. For it wasn't a _woman_ , now that Harry thought about it. It was a _girl…_ but the voice was undeniably familiar. For Harry had heard it several times before…

Specifically, every time a Dementor came near him.

The thought chilled Harry to the bone-marrow. He pulled his cloak tight around him, his _new_ cloak, one Dobby had created for him from his birthing shroud. He didn't feel comfortable with Dumbledore's overt interest in it, so decided to keep it close at all times. The elf had done a cracking job with the transformation, and Harry was very fond of it.

His mother had used it to keep him safe…was he now hearing her words from inside the very fabric?

Harry hugged into the cloak now, and let the echoes of the voice guide him on. There was a connection to the torches, as though the voices were coming from the flames themselves, weaved into the crackling and spitting of the burning sconces. Harry moved along to the next one, and sure enough…

_"We are so close, perhaps even to create a purer Stone than the Flamellian Ruby…you have made such advances in the field…if we could just take the next steps…"_

_"The next steps, in your mind, are 'backward steps'…alchemy is about a 'cohesion' of souls…I want no part in that 'splitting' art you are so obsessed with…"_

_"But I…how do you know?"_

_"In your eyes, Albus…clear as day…where is the other part of your soul? Where did you put it? No, don't tell me. I don't want to know…just you know that I will not be part of this…I like my soul as it is, whole and in one piece…"_

_"Miss Evans, please…"_

The voices faded away, and Harry fell back against the wall, breathing hard. His thoughts were racing, scrambling over each other to be considered first. He didn't know where to start…well, actually, he _did_ …and it wasn't here in this deserted corridor. He needed help, and for that he needed -

* * *

"Hermione! I…I just…"

"Just what?" said Hermione, instantly frantic at Harry's dishevelled look. She leapt up from her textbooks. "What's wrong? Has someone attacked you? Who was it?"

She snapped her wand from its wrist-holster and waved it around as if ready to curse unseen enemies over Harry's shoulder. He gripped her wrist and held it firm.

"Careful! You'll take my eye out like that!"

"You wear glasses," Hermione pointed out. "The worst I'll do is crack the lens."

"The shards of which could stab me in the eye," Harry argued. "Anyway, forget that now. I wasn't attacked, so get that knot out of your knickers. I have something important to tell you. I was coming back from seeing Luna -"

"Oh, you found her," said Hermione, re-holstering her wand and easing down on her restless energy. "Will she help us?"

"Yeah, she already knew," said Harry. "She was glad to join our cause. Celesca told her I was going to ask. Or, should I say, her _girlfriend_ told her."

"Girlfriend? That happened fast," Hermione, mused.

"Why are you not at all surprised by this?" asked Harry.

"Should I be?" Hermione replied. "So Luna prefers witches to wizards. What's the big deal?"

"Well, I don't suppose there's a _big deal_ ," said Harry, sheepishly. "But…I don't know…I didn't expect it, that's all. And they're so young."

Hermione scoffed at that. "Celesca is _our_ age, Luna only a year younger."

"Yeah…but aren't people older when they decide…you know… _that sort of thing?_ "

Hermione looked at Harry in deep pity. "I'm almost offended by your denseness. You don't really think that, do you? That's from the Ron Weasley school of logic, that is."

"Now I'm _definitely_ offended," Harry chortled. "But, what I mean is, we might be their age but… _you've_ never liked girls, have you?"

"Maybe I have," said Hermione sultrily. ""But you'll never know who, as I'm _obviously_ too young for anything of the kind."

Harry's jaw hit the carpet. "Y-you have? Who?"

Hermione erupted in giggles. " _No-one_ , Harry! I'm just making the point. I've pretty much fancied you since you rescued me from the troll. If I was old enough to like you _then,_ Luna and Celesca and more than able to like each other _now_."

"Yeah…yeah, I suppose you're right," said Harry, rubbing his overwrought head. "Did you really fancy me after the troll?"

"Rabidly," said Hermione. "I'll tell you all about it one day. But you were about to tell me something just as important."

"Oh yeah, how did I get so distracted? Anyway…"

And Harry recounted the details of the disembodied voices in the torches. Hermione was a good audience, absorbing all the details like a sponge. When Harry finished, she sat in silence for a minute or so, considering her response.

"This is worrying, Harry. Very worrying," she said eventually.

"What do you make of it?" Harry asked. "It…it sounded to me like my mum was talking to Dumbledore about _Horcruxes_. She said he was _obsessed_ with them. What do think about that?"

"I'd rather not say," said Hermione. "I've been thinking about that a lot. And the implications bother me."

"How so?"

"Just look at what we know," Hermione continued. "Lord Voldemort has split his soul into seven pieces, a couple of which we've destroyed. There is a book in the library about the topic with no credited author. Now we have you hearing the echo of a conversation where your mother accuses Dumbledore of knowing and, we can infer, _experimenting_ with them."

"You do believe me, then?" asked Harry.

"Of course," said Hermione stoically. "You were right about the basilisk, you're right about this. I have no doubt."

"And what do you think it means?"

"I think it means that we have a good idea who wrote _Secrets of the Darkest Arte."_

Harry drew a sharp breath. "Dumbledore…you think he invented Horcruxes? Why?"

"The German connection," said Hermione flatly. "I've always wondered why Dumbledore was required to defeat The Dark Wizard Grindelwald. We aren't looking to foreign powers to help with Voldemort, are we? And I can find no record of there ever being an _international_ wizarding war, one that would have pitted Dumbledore and Grindelwald against each other. But there is a curious piece of information about that."

"Which is?"

"Dumbledore beat Grindelwald here, in Britain," Hermione explained. "He was extradited back to Austria by the Wizengamot after his defeat. It's all on public record. The question is, why was Grindelwald here in the first place, if he was such an enemy of the free world?"

"I'm assuming you have an opinion on this. Care to share it?"

Hermione frowned at Harry's sassiness. "What I'm wondering is…what if Grindelwald wasn't an enemy of Dumbledore…but a _friend?_ What if they were trying to develop Horcruxes _together_?"

Harry felt his breath tremble at the notion. "They would certainly be powerful enough…the two most powerful sorcerers of their age. And it would explain the German entries in the _Humongous Book of Horcruxes._ But they ended up fighting…that doesn't make sense."

"Perhaps something went wrong, the process didn't go as planned," Hermione postulated. "Perhaps someone else got hurt in the fallout. Someone close to Dumbledore…and he went crazy in the thirst for vengeance. You've told me his temper can be volcanic when roused."

"What about his brother? He lives in Hogsmeade," said Harry. "We could go and ask him."

"No, I don't think it's him," said Hermione. She gulped a deep breath. "I messaged my Mum, asked her to look at the family tree tapestry in Grimmauld Place. Specifically for the Dumbledore family. She found the name Dumbledore was screaming when he had that fit… _Ariana_ …Harry - it was his _sister_."

"Sister?" Harry mumbled. "I didn't know he had a sister. And you think she got hurt somehow, maybe while Dumbledore was trying to make a Horcrux?"

"Yes, yes I do," said Hermione firmly. " _Secrets of the Darkest Arte_ focuses heavily on _animal sacrifice_ , at least in the early sections. I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest Dumbledore was trying to create a Horcrux…using a _goat_. Something went awry, Ariana got caught in the crossfire - maybe she was trying to stop him, knowing how Dark the magic was - and she was killed. Maybe instead of the goat. Dumbledore panicked, but it was too late. The ritual was underway.

"So, his soul split, and his sister was dead. There were two displaced souls in that room, and I'd bet that Dumbledore forced one into the goat. I don't know at this point if it was his own fragment, or his sister's, but I wouldn't be surprised to find out that his brother's crimes against goats aren't actually all part of it."

"Inappropriate charms!" Harry cried. "Of course. Aberforth might be trying to keep the goat - and the soul fragment in it - alive!"

"Or passing it from one goat to another," said Hermione. "It's Dark Magic either way. It would ostracise Aberforth, making him a leper to the rest of magical society. Maybe he's taking the fall, deflecting attention from his brother. Or maybe Albus has coerced him somehow. He seems more and more prone to that sort of thing. It's just an idea, though."

"One that makes a ton of sense," said Harry. "We need to find out more. But where do we start?"

"With these voices of yours," said Hermione. "We have to try and recreate the effect somehow. We should have done that with the basilisk, tried to understand more about what was happening to you."

"But, back then, I only heard the basilisk as it was moving through the pipework," Harry pointed out. "This seemed to be more like a memory."

"It still came from _somewhere_ , Harry," Hermione reasoned. "Which means something triggered it. We need to find out what, and how we can make it happen again. There might be more to learn…no, there _must be_."

"Is there anything we can do now?" Harry wondered. "The ghost, echo, whatever it was, of my mum mentioned alchemy…and a 'cohesion of souls'. Now what in the name of Merlin can _that_ mean?"

"I don't know, but this is your area of study," said Hermione. "Have you come across anything that could refer to?"

Harry thought hard. "Only in the esoteric definition, of the _philosophical_ side of the Work. The Red King and White Queen have to unite to create the enlightened being, the illuminated philosopher. I haven't got far enough to really understand what that means."

"Then perhaps we need to skip a few modules," said Hermione. "I can't imagine that what you heard was random. Someone was trying to tell you something, Harry. Something important."

Harry considered that. "You may be right…but who was it, and how can I tell what they were trying to say?"

They both sat there and considered the question. It was another riddle…and they only had room in their thinking for _one_ of those…

Which was a damned shame. As the very next day, the biggest Riddle in their lives turned up unexpectedly at Hogwarts, demanding an audience with the Headmaster.


	16. The Soul Trade

* * *

The first Harry heard of it was from Neville, who came steaming into the Prefects Communal Area just as Harry and Hermione were thinking about going down to swipe some dinner. They had no intention of eating in the Great Hall, for Hermione was cosily cuddled up to Harry on one of their couches, as he read to her from _Hogwarts, Hogsmeade and Hogscastle: A Study of Myth in the Magical North._ Even Harry had to admit it was quite an entertaining read, not that he was making much progress. For Hermione infinitely preferred to be sucking his lips, rather than listening to any words coming from them.

And Harry was in quite the agreement about that state of affairs. But that all changed as Neville charged into the Communal Area with the dramatic news.

Lord Voldemort had arrived at Hogwarts…and the whole school was talking about it.

"The place is in uproar!" Neville panted. "People are running about, screaming and crying. Finch-Fletchley passed out on the stairs to the Divination Tower. The Professors haven't got a dickie-bird about what to do. It's chaos!"

"Hold on, Nev…slow down," said Harry. He was still stroking Hermione's hair, not quite absorbing the news. " _Who_ did you say is here?"

"Who? _Who?_ " Neville cried. "Harry…it's _You-Know-Who!"_

Harry felt the breath leave his lungs in a cold rush of air. Hermione shot up like a dart from her place on his chest.

"Voldemort…is _here?"_ she hissed. "Are you sure?"

"I heard it from Seamus, who was told by Parvati, who was Floo'd by Padma," said Neville. "She was the one who found Justin. He passed out after actually _seeing_ him. Can…can he do that, Harry? Knock someone out with just a _look_?"

"No he can't, don't be ridiculous, Nev!" Harry retorted. A collision of anger and anxiety rose in him. What to do first?

Hermione seemed to be thinking the same thing. "Harry…don't even think about going out there after him."

"I'm not -"

"You never did lie very well, particularly to _me_ ," she volleyed back, cutting him off. "I can see it in your eyes."

"But we have to do something," Harry argued.

"No we don't," said Hermione anxiously. "Not until there's an obvious reason to do so."

"Hermione!" Harry cried, incredulously. "Lord Voldemort is _here_ …at the school! Doesn't that count as an _obvious reason?"_

 _"_ No, it doesn't!" Hermione shouted back. She was restless in her animation now. "Look, I know you want to rush out there and fight him but, Harry…that's _suicide_! And I'll kill you _myself_ before I let you out that door."

Harry roared in his frustration. He paced the room angrily. "Then what _can_ we do?"

"Let's make sure he's really here," said Hermione, her tone softening as she moved to Harry. She pushed her hands into his chest. Harry knew that sign, so he controlled his breathing until he was master of his swirling energy again. "There…better?"

"Better," Harry breathed, calm settling into his mind.

" _Bloody Merlin_ , Hermione," Neville quirked. "That's some power you have there!"

Hermione cocked a cheeky grin over her shoulder. Then she turned back to Harry. "Get your Map, sweetheart. Let's make sure You-Know-Who is _Who-He-Claims-To-Be_."

Harry clapped his hand to his forehead, Hermione's logic obvious and flawless as always. He dived to his dorm and was back again before Hermione and Neville even had time to strike up another discussion. Harry opened the Map, spreading it out on his desk in front of them.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good!" Harry muttered, tapping his wand to the Map. The sprawling expanse of Hogwarts spread out like a giant ink splodge on the hitherto blank parchment.

"Well spread my legs and bury me in a Y-Shaped coffin with a gaggle of Veela!" Neville exclaimed. "What in the name of Merlin is _that_?"

Harry laughed out loud. "My Dad and his mates made it during their time here. It shows the school and everyone in it."

"Wow," said Neville. He peered at the map. "It shows secret passages and everything! Harry, you have to lend me this."

Harry quirked an eyebrow at him. "You and Miss Hart running out of broom closets already, eh?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Neville grinned back, coquettishly. "We don't all have the luxury of a private Common Room to get all cwtchy, you know."

"Cwtchy?" Hermione queried over Harry's other shoulder.

"It's a Welsh word, like a sort of cuddle, but closer than that," Neville explained. "Enola says it all the time. It's sort of stuck."

Hermione swooned at that. "Mimicking mannerisms already? That's adorable."

"I'd go with nauseating," Harry teased. He turned to Hermione. "All _you've_ done so far is made me read more. That's an acceptable trait-swap."

"Trait-swap?" Hermione snorted haughtily. "Excuse me, but I have not inherited any trait of yours. And I'd prefer to keep it that way, if you don't mind."

"Too late there, Hermione," Neville chuckled. "You've taken on Harry's sassy mouth. Sorry to break that to you."

Hermione huffed again and looked genuinely affronted. Harry smirked at her a minute, before turning back to the map.

"Come on, this is a fine way to locate my mortal enemy," he moaned.

"I thought that was Malfoy, or even Ron, these days," Neville quipped.

"They work on a time-share type thing," Harry replied blandly. "Right now, it's Tom Riddle's turn."

"Tom Riddle? Is that You-Know-Who's real name then?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "I found that out from his old diary, the one that possessed Ginny Weasley back in our Second Year. Dumb bint. I bet she _let_ him rape her mind."

"Harry," Hermione rebuked. "That's unfair. Even to that waste of bone and sinew."

"Wow…you two _really_ don't like Ginny, do you?" Neville guffawed.

"No," Harry and Hermione chimed in unison. Then Hermione snatched suddenly at Harry's arm. "Look! There! _T.M. Riddle."_

Harry read the name under the little dot moving through the castle.

"That confirms it then," Harry grumbled, that last flicker of hope that this was some big mistake brutally extinguished at a stroke.

"Where's he going though?" asked Neville, peering close to get a better look. "What part of the castle is that?"

"Gargoyle Corridor," Hermione replied. She pointed at a little signpost on the Map to illustrate her answer.

"But…isn't that where the _Headmaster's Tower_ is?"

Harry blinked in surprise as the realisation hit him. "Yeah, yeah it is."

"And look!" Hermione cried. "Dumbledore is _in_ his office. They are going to meet very soon."

"Maybe they'll fight," said Neville, his voice barely a sliver of air. "Do you think…has You-Know-Who come here to _kill_ Dumbledore?"

Harry felt the thrill of terror speed through his veins, creeping with icy fingertips. Neville was making a very good point. But not for nothing was Hermione the voice of reason in Harry's mind.

"Dumbledore is the only one Voldemort is afraid of," said Hermione. "And they've fought to a stalemate twice in the past few months. I'd be very much surprised if he's here for that."

"Unless he has some new sort of weapon to beat Dumbledore," said Harry. "Don't forget, Dumbledore might still want to _redeem_ Voldemort. It makes him vulnerable."

"That's just _our_ theory, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "Besides, Voldemort has entered the school already."

Harry cottoned on to her inference in an instant. "Meaning he got past the wards -"

"And any other defences. Dumbledore said that protections had been added, strengthened. But Voldemort got past them without a struggle."

"But that would mean -"

"Yes, I know," Hermione breathed. "It means Dumbledore must have _invited_ Voldemort into the castle."

"But why would he do that?" Harry yelled, his voice rising suddenly. "Voldemort is the _enemy_!"

"But Voldemort is now also on Dumbledore's turf," Hermione argued. "If _I_ was going to have a meeting with someone like that, I'd want it to be on my terms, if I could manage it."

Harry considered that a moment. It eased his worry slightly, and he looked at Neville for a third opinion. "What do you think, mate?"

"I think it's amazing that you can just say You-Know-Who's name so casually," said Neville, his tone somewhat reverent. "Both of you."

"What's odd about that? It's just a name," said Harry.

"And fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself," Hermione added.

"Yeah, but you're the only two who say it," Neville replied. " _No-one_ else does. Dumbledore might, but you can forget everyone else. Haven't you noticed that?"

Harry shrugged. He'd noticed Hermione using the name before, but hadn't really applied the level of significance to it that Neville now was.

"So maybe we do," said Harry "What about it?"

"Nothing really. It just gives you both a sort of… _aura_. I don't know. It's pretty cool, though."

Harry threw a questioning sort of grin at Hermione, who just bit her lip in agreement.

"Well, let's put this aura to good work," said Harry. "We can only guess what's happening with Dumbledore and Voldemort, but we need to take precautions."

"Such as?" asked Hermione.

"We need to enforce a lockdown," said Harry. "Nev, grab Katie, and McLaggen the Centaur-Botherer, will you? Get them to assemble the Prefects and secure everyone in their dorms. It's the safest place for them just now. Then we'll patrol the Common Room and the Towers until we get instructions from outside…or we need to fight our way out."

"Harry, look here," said Hermione. She was pointing at the Map again. "There's a secret staircase, hidden right behind the fireplace in the Common Room. I never knew that was there, did you?"

"A _fire escape_!" Harry exclaimed. "That's perfect. We'll use that. Nev - go and snap the Prefects into action. I'll go and dismantle the fire, see if we can't open up a route out…just in case."

"And I'll stay here…I have a tricky little spell to cast," said Hermione. "And it'll be easier without distractions."

"Spell? What spell?" asked Harry, suspiciously.

"Well," Hermione began with a blush. "I've been trying to add to the enchantments on the Map…to see if it can tell me what people are saying. Thought it might be useful."

"That's _brilliant_!" said Harry. "What gave you that idea?"

Hermione's flush deepened. "Well, I only did it _really_ , you know…to see if you were saying other girls' names in your dreams."

Neville hooted out a laugh, falling back against the wall and clutching at his chest. Hermione smiled meekly. Harry just shook his head at her.

"Honestly!" he tutted.

"What? It's perfectly reasonable to spy on you when you aren't looking," Hermione replied bashfully. Neville just laughed that much harder.

"We'll talk about this later," Harry smirked. "Did you get it to work? That's the main thing."

"Yes, the spell works," Hermione sniffed. "But it takes a few minutes. The incantations are complex. The Marauders were a slippery bunch of customers."

Harry thought they might actually like that, and grinned widely as words suddenly appeared on the Map.

_"Messrs Padfoot and Prongs thank the affable young witch for her compliments, and cordially remind the young wizard that his lady is the boss of him!"_

Now Hermione burst out laughing. "Did I tell you how wise and intelligent the Marauders were, as well?"

"Just get on with the spell," Harry huffed. "Before they hold up the whole process. Look, Voldemort's nearly at the office already."

A hectic five minutes passed, in which Neville assisted the Prefects and House Heads in herding the students into their dorm rooms. This involved Harry nearly throwing down with a couple of Grey Robed Fourth Year witches, who were being particularly stubborn about following his orders. But it got done, and Harry vaulted the stairs back to Hermione just in time to see her complete her incantations.

"There…done!" she cried triumphantly. "Look, Harry…they're about to meet."

Harry hurried to Hermione's side, and his hand found hers as if on reflex. They looked at the Map together, Harry's eyes wide in startled surprise as a little speech bubble emerged from the little dot labelled _T. M_. _Riddle_

" _Hello, Albus…_ "

* * *

"Welcome, Tom."

Dumbledore hadn't moved to greet his visitor, or even to raise his wand. He just considered Lord Voldemort over the top his spindly, interlaced fingers, as though he were merely some sort of mild curiosity. Like a shocking pink Dementor, or something. Just an amusement to break up the monotony of a standard working day.

"The hospitality of your castle is somewhat lacking," Voldemort replied. "Devoid of its usual warmth, shall we say."

"My castle doesn't often have two dozen Death Eaters prowling her corridors," Dumbledore replied smoothly. "Such things tend to affect the atmosphere, I'm afraid."

Voldemort offered a little grimace and sat down without invitation. Dumbledore permitted it, making no move to protest. For a solid minute, the two wizards simply eyeballed each other.

"You can be at no loss to understand the reason for my visit, Albus," said Voldemort, just as the air began to congeal around them.

"I assure you, I have not the insight to account for such a … _pleasure_ as this _,_ " Dumbledore returned. "But as we are being cordial, _Tom,_ how about enlightening an old man? Are you here to arrest me? To fight me? To install more of your child agents into my student populous?"

"Child agents!" Voldemort laughed mirthlessly. "My, my, Albus…I see you have retained your flair for the dramatic. The members of our initiatives for younger people are only ingratiating themselves to the future. They are the next generation, Albus. We have a responsibility to shape them in the right way, do we not?"

"Indeed we do," Dumbledore agreed. "Though I fancy that the way you and I define _the right way_ might differ somewhat."

"But that was not always the case, was it?" Voldemort crooned. He leaned in close. "There was a time when you championed the idea of _The Greater Good_ , was there not?"

Dumbledore faltered, that was to say his eyes blinked out of sequence. It wasn't clear if Voldemort noticed, but Dumbledore regained his composure quickly.

"The foolish ideals of younger wizard," Dumbledore returned off-handedly.

"Or…of _two_?"

Outmanoeuvred again. Black King to King Bishop Four. And Check. Dumbledore rested his hands on the desk, and Fawkes soared to his shoulder. Voldemort eyed the phoenix queerly.

"Touched a nerve, I see," he said, his tone like icy silk. "That's an interesting bird, isn't it? How old is he now?"

"Fawkes came to me in the mid-1920's," said Dumbledore, stroking Fawkes' plume without taking his eyes from Voldemort. "You know how these things work, I believe. He was the first of his kind in five hundred years. I was honoured to be chosen."

"Indeed," Voldemort nodded. "Would have been around the time of your sister's death, wouldn't it?"

"It would," Dumbledore replied, his jaw tightening.

"That must have been a terrible tragedy for your family," said Voldemort. " _Heart-breaking_ , I imagine. I would not know…I have never lost a loved one. Or loved at all, in fact. A foolish weakness, in my opinion. Family and friends die…so why lose a bit of yourself with them?"

"Why indeed, when you can take their lives - and power - yourself?" Dumbledore replied. "You deny yourself a greater power, Tom, in choosing against love."

"On that point we shall have to disagree," said Voldemort. "As I think I have already proven."

Voldemort nodded at Dumbledore's blackened hand, and the lower wrist that was slowly turning the same colour.

"How long does Severus give you?"

"We estimate a year, if an antidote cannot be fashioned," said Dumbledore, conversationally. "It was quite a genius curse, I must admit."

"One of my finest," Voldemort sneered. "But you should know, Albus, I do not approve of antidotes to my own curses. Somewhat defeats the object, wouldn't you say? The only person immune is _myself."_

"And as such, I assume the only cure comes from the same source?"

"Perhaps," Voldemort crooned. "But you are in a position to demand nothing. You are a dying, old man. And I am in the position to _grant_ nothing… _incomplete_ as I am."

"Ah," Dumbledore sighed, the old fire sparking in his blue eyes. "Now we come to it, at last. The real reason for your visit."

"Indeed," said Voldemort. "I left a very special object here, one I wish to retrieve. One I know _you_ are now in possession of."

"And just what would give you that impression?"

"Do not play coy with me, Dumbledore!" Voldemort cried, standing and pacing to the window. "Do not think me totally blind. Seeking out the S _eer_ , bringing her here. I know it was you who pushed for that change in legislation - that all magical children in Britain had to sit N.E.W.T. courses here at Hogwarts. Getting Lady Roth as you new Defence Professor…her husband your mouthpiece at the Ministry. Very clever, Albus, very clever indeed."

Dumbledore smiled pleasantly. "I wont deny that _Lord_ Roth has been a very helpful hand to have in White City. But we both have our pieces in play, do we not? Lady Harriet is an excellent Defence Professor…and her daughter is a fascinating creature."

"Ah, yes, Miss Celesca," said Voldemort, sitting again. "I have been keeping a very close eye on _her_. And she on me, as I hear. Under _your_ prompting, I assume?"

"Naturally," said Dumbledore, inclining his head.

"And you care nothing for what it costs the girl to use her talents?"

"Why, Tom…are you _concerned_ for the health of Miss Roth? A touch of humanity at last, perhaps?" Dumbledore quirked.

"Nothing of the sort, simple morbid curiosity," Voldemort replied. "I merely wonder if you are as callous now as you were with the Longbottoms and the Potters, when we last did this dance? Have you lost any of the famed Dumbledore steel?"

"I assure you I have not," Dumbledore smiled benignly. "Young Celesca nearly died in the course of locating your Horcrux, Tom. I am quite certain that the effort of locating Lily Evans' lost Cell will certainly be too much for her cursed life. But what is a little _collateral damage_ in the pursuit of Total Victory?"

"So, you admit that you have found the diadem?"

"You claim to already know that," said Dumbledore. "How did you discover this piece of intelligence? Are you looking to punish Lucius by putting a pincer pressure on Draco, perhaps? I did hear tell of such a ploy."

"We both have our pieces in play," Voldemort returned cryptically.

"But you have painted yours in fifty shades of grey, Tom. I could pick them off one by one, if I so choose."

"We both know you will not," said Voldemort. "You will allow the death of one student a year in the course of your plan, not dozens. That is where you and I differ…had _I_ conjured such a fine and Dark renewal spell, I would have allowed for _multiple_ sacrifices. I'd never age."

"With age comes wisdom, Tom," Dumbledore replied. "You are a mere youngster in comparison to me."

"And yet you still look to me to perfect your experiments," Voldemort laughed, a hollow bark if there ever was one. "So…my Horcrux. You have it?"

"I do," Dumbledore confirmed.

"And yet you have not destroyed it?"

"I learned a dire lesson with the Ring," said Dumbledore, holding up his hand. "I am not known for repeating my mistakes. Lady Roth helped me remove Rowena's lost diadem from the Defence Professor's office, lifting your curse on the position in the process. Now I keep it near me. After all, I can only be cursed to death _once_. And, if I find a way to survive this year, I may need to utilise the diadem as a weapon. I am not without challengers, you see."

"Are you referring to Minerva or the Granger girl?"

"Both, I imagine," said Dumbledore.

"They side-stepped you with great art to protect Potter," Voldemort nodded. He sounded impressed. "That must have annoyed you no end. I am looking forward to pitting my intellect against theirs when the time comes. It will be a battle worthy of song."

"You are a fool, Tom, to stand against Miss Granger while Harry has any say in the matter," said Dumbledore. "Threaten _her,_ and by the time Harry finishes with you there won't be enough left for all your Horcruxes to revive."

"Oh, I have no interest in Potter," Voldemort spat acidly. "Not now I have heard the Prophecy."

Dumbledore looked genuinely impressed. "You have heard the Prophecy? Pray tell me, how did you manage that, with the record destroyed?"

"My Death Eaters may be cumbersome, but not all are stupid," said Voldemort. "Antonin has a vivid memory for faces…and the one which swirled from that smashed globe was hardly easy to forget."

"Ahh…so you went _straight to the source?"_

Voldemort sneered. "Even fraudulent Divination teachers sometimes frequent the living world. You should have put a better security detail on her, during her trips to the Hogs Head, Albus. You never know who may be waiting."

Dumbledore closed his eyes in angry reticence. "Bellatrix, I assume? Decimating minds does seem to be her particular tipple of sadism."

"She makes it a form of art," Voldemort hissed in reply. "In any case, Trelawney is such a mental case that it would be hard to tell the difference. Perhaps her invented predictions will seem more realistic now her mind has been, shall we say… _opened._ "

Dumbledore breathed back his fury once again. "And yet she predicted the demise of the Dark Lord at the hands of my protege."

"And just when do you intend to tell him the Dark Lord Trelawney mentioned is _you_?"

"We, _neither of us_ , can be sure of that identity," Dumbledore sighed.

"Then you see the correlation? You accept that it is more likely to be you than me?" Voldemort pushed. "Prophecy spans time, Albus. Or should I call you, _Dark Lord Dumbledore?_ "

Dumbledore closed his eyes, avoiding the answer. But that was answer enough.

"I shed that moniker when I defeated my old friend Gellert," said Dumbledore simply. "And that was a long time ago. I assume it is from him that you get all this detail on my past?"

"Naturally. After so many years in isolation, he makes quite the chatty _open prisoner_. I'm not entirely sure that Lucius is happy playing host to him, but that is a small price to pay for all this information on your dubious past together.

"And it is a past you cannot erase, Albus, no matter how much you may wish to. History never forgets, you know. But I am warmed to see that you are still stringing Potter along. My, my…there's such an eloquence to your evil. At least I make no secret of my intent."

"A weakness we have exploited once before, and no doubt will again."

"Ah, but I am nothing if not a study in my own flaws," said Voldemort, smoothly. "I have seen my weaknesses in full light. I now must attend to them. Which is why you will give me my diadem at the end of this little tete-a-tete."

"And what makes you so assured of that?" asked Dumbledore.

"Simple," Voldemort replied. "If I can rebuild my soul, it will show you the way to rebuild _yours_."

Dumbledore considered Voldemort a moment. "You seek to _put your pieces_ _back together_ , as it were?"

"Of course," said Voldemort. "Splitting was effective, but short-sighted. Two parts have already been destroyed. My protections were not enough. But if the magic of _cohesion_ proves as empowering as I've been told, then perhaps the end will justify the means. The advances in the field offer such promise.

"Assist me, Albus, let me carry on the study…as you did fifty years ago. Let me finish what you and Gellert started."

"And I am simply to believe you will share this with me, should you prove successful?"

"You were my mentor, Albus, I do not want you as my enemy," said Voldemort. "Aid me…give me back the diadem. In return, I will allow the continued autonomy of Hogwarts. I will spare it from the changes I am making to magical Britain…so much as can be expected. And when my takeover is complete, you shall have the role of shaping the next generation for the New Order. Save your precious children, Albus. Then I will share with you the power of _soul-cohesion_ when I achieve it. And I shall."

"Not without the work of Lily Potter," said Dumbledore. "Not without her own Cell. And Harry will not stand aside and give it up without a fight."

"And, just like that, we are back to Potter again," said Voldemort in a weary sort of drawl. "He is your pet project, Albus, it is your responsibility to pull his strings to get him in line. I have no time for a boy with mediocre talent who flourishes on the efforts of others. Even if it turns out I _have_ been mistaken in my interpretation of the Prophecy, I will have nothing to fear from Potter once I am _whole_ again. His little bit of hocus pocus at the Ministry last year was unexpected…I shall not be caught cold by it again."

"You couldn't stand his possession of you," Dumbledore queried. "I saw the pain it caused you."

"And how did you explain that to him?" asked Voldemort. "No, let me guess…you said he _loved_ me to such agony?"

Dumbledore stayed silent. Voldemort had his answer…and it brought a genuine, piercing laugh from him. It even made Fawkes squawk, in resistance to its cutting tone.

"And he _believed_ you? Oh my, this is priceless!" laughed Voldemort. "Let me get this clear in my mind…the boy, who many consider to be my fated destroyer, is counting on _loving me to death_! I am undone, Albus, truly. What will be his weapon of choice? Sunbeams? Rainbows? The music of the Carpenters?"

"Harry possesses a power you know not," said Dumbledore. "And if he weaponises it, he will defeat you."

"He may defeat this body, but we both know I cannot be killed," said Voldemort. He pinned his slit-eyes firmly on Dumbledore. "But if Potter _does_ somehow achieve that outcome, _you_ will also die _._ And all you have been striving for, for the best part of a century, will fade to ash. Can you roam eternity carrying such a burden, such guilt?"

"I intend to leave this world as whole as I entered it," said Dumbledore. "And I will have righted my wrongs when that day comes."

"Then you need to stay alive long enough to carry out this great feat," said Voldemort. "And without _me_ …that cannot happen."

"Nor can it take place anywhere but in Lily Potter's Alchemists Cell."

"Then I leave it you to locate it," said Voldemort. "We need each other, Dumbledore. You know the truth as well as I. We cannot predict the future…we can only make decisions in the _now_. I await yours."

Dumbledore took a heaving breath, then slowly nodded. "Very well. I accept your proposal. But you will allow me to remove the endangered children from the school. I have heard of these ' _Kedavra_ _Chambers'_ you are constructing at that camp near Offa's Dyke. Not one of them will enter it, so long as I have breath in my lungs."

"I shall concede that to you. In any case, I intend to allow all filthy-blooded abominations of magic to leave Britain, should they choose to. I may retain some healthy ones, we need a labour force after all, but the rest can go. You have one month to purge the school. My Grey Robes will return here to examine your progress on that date. They will be under instruction to remove any Mudbloods who remain."

"One month," said Dumbledore, nodding. "Now go. And tell your Death Eaters to remove the surveillance devices they have planted around the school. I will not have your delinquents and perverts spying on my children. And if I trace any back to them, the cost to that wizard will be _severe_."

"As you wish. Good-day, Dumbledore."

And with that, he turned on his heel and slithered away.

* * *

On the other side of the school, Hermione was casting a series of _Reparo_ spells. For in his anger, Harry's magic had erupted from him like a sort of whirlwind, shattering the desk lamp, both their coffee mugs, and a perfect working model of the Milky Way, that Hermione used in her Astronomy lessons. She had also had to twice cast _Colloportus_ on the Communal Area door, for Harry's heaving magic had decimated the first one.

He was simply that enraged.

Now he was sat on one of the couches, trapped behind a Shield Charm that Neville and Enola had had to conjure between them. His magic continued to spike out of him at random moments, fizzing into the Shield like an electric discharge.

"How is this happening?" Enola shouted, as the Shield shimmered again under Harry's expulsions. "How is his energy just shooting out like that?"

"I've not quite worked that out," said Hermione. "He always was susceptible to bouts of accidental magic, but since he first started testing out runes and ritual his magic has been doing this."

"And what is this?" asked Neville. "What's happening?"

Hermione frowned at Harry as she considered him. "His magic is no longer just an internal force…it's now developing a form of _external expression._ "

"I do ritual," Enola scowled. " _My_ magic doesn't act out like this."

"Yes, well, Harry is so much more powerful than you that it's comical, love," Hermione snapped.

"Hey, that was uncalled for," said Enola. "I was just saying."

"I know…I'm sorry," Hermione grimaced.

"Don't take it personal, En," Neville grinned. "Harry's just not doing as he's told. And Hermione gets cross when Harry acts all independent!"

"Shut up, Neville," Hermione growled. "Look, I'm going to open the door and take over the Shield Charm from you. Then just…go away. Leave me with him."

"Hermione, that's a bit risky, don't you think?" Neville protested. "Harry's wild, in case you haven't noticed."

"Yeah, love, he could hurt you," Enola added.

Hermione scoffed at her. "Harry would never hurt me. Just leave me to it. I'll calm him down."

Neville looked at Enola, she mirrored his doubtful expression, but then they just shrugged in agreement. Hermione raised her wand, gave a jaunty little shift as her magic connected to the field around Harry, then gestured with her head for the others to leave. Only once the door had closed firmly, did she lower her wand, the little charade over.

For this was no Shield Charm encircling Harry. He had obliterated Neville and Enola's combined spell as soon as they cast it. No, this was Harry's own field of magic, manifest from his incandescent rage. It was able to repel any stimulus, both from within and without. Hermione had no idea how he'd conjured it, but she felt reasonably sure of its purpose.

For Harry was now a dangerous force…in particular, a danger to _her_. And some part of him had reacted to protect her from this wild, untamed side of his magic.

Hermione was sure Harry was as confused about this as she was. More than that, he was probably _scared_ of it. She could see that in his expression. He looked lost, as though the collapse of his magical failsafes had left him feeling exposed and vulnerable. He didn't know what he had done, or how to reverse it. If it had been to keep Hermione safe, it had done it's job.

But now, it was a case of what to do next. And Hermione could think of only one solution

Though she was totally frigid in the face of it. For all the books she'd come across about such things advised expressly _against_ what she was planning to do. It was borderline _forbidden_. Admittedly, the tomes only numbered in single figures, but all had carried the same central message, despite whatever else they might have focused on later.

_Do NOT enter a field of magic, or ritual space, of another witch or wizard._

The books differed in their detail on this. Some ranged from the mildest of shocks to outright maiming, others compared it to being flayed from the inside out. Some spoke of rapid mental degradation that would render a person insane, or an overload of energy that would cause every organ to fail, in alphabetical order. Part of Hermione was curious to see if _that_ would actually happen. But the most dire warning was the one most terrifying to her now.

_"The spirit of the wizard, who's space is invaded, will feel so violated at the intrusion into something so deeply personal, on a sub-emotional level, that he will never be able to trust the invading person ever again. The repulsion will be so intense, that even sharing the same close space will be so abhorrent as to be rendered impossible to endure."_

Hermione had the passage burned into her retinas. She had memorised it after that afternoon back in the Summer, when she'd happened upon Harry experimenting with her rune stones. She'd been a fraction away from that field of energy he'd created then, and so tempted to cross into it that it was almost as if she'd been drawn by a sort of magnetic force. The very notion of what it might feel like had sent her mind spinning into wild spirals. It was like a kaleidoscope of emotion on the edge of her sense, and Hermione - ever the great academian - had thrown herself into research about it.

And immediately thanked Merlin that she'd shown restraint.

For if any of that were partially true then she'd had a narrow escape. But there was a problem…for Hermione's rational mind couldn't equate what the books told her _would_ happen, and the things she _felt_ being so close to it last time. The same things she was feeling now. It didn't marry up. Harry's energy didn't feel dangerous or brutal. Indeed, there was was something gentle, even _needy_ about it. And, as Hermione reasoned, if this field was thrown up to _protect_ her, it didn't make sense that it would harm her.

Which just left the other side of things…the _metaphysical_ issue. Now Hermione would normally have cast that off as woolly tosh. It was unreliable nonsense, on a par with Divination. But, if the last year had proven anything, it was that there was actually something to that elusive side of magic, even if it was so transient as to be made utterly frustrating for study.

For weren't they now planning Harry's immediate future around a Prophecy? Hadn't their fraud of a Divination teacher actually set in motion the great events that had characterised Harry's entire life? Hermione couldn't deny any of that, no matter how powerfully her logical sensibilities wanted to rebel against it. It opened up a horrible can of wriggly, nonsensical worms…and a world where palmistry and crystal balls and tea leaves could hold their own alongside Potion ingredients and every spell book ever written.

And it made Hermione Granger bitter in a very ugly sort of way.

For she had no control over such things. If Fate handed her a bad hand, she just had to bitch about it and deal with it as best she could. It was just one of those things. As it was, things weren't so bad. She wasn't in a position to really complain too much. Harry would always come with drama, but Hermione was wildly happy to put up with that. To be so close to him made all his baggage worth it a million times over.

But she had baggage of her own, and maybe it was _this_ , as much as anything, that was holding her back. For this way a two-way thing. If she crossed into Harry's energetic field, into his emotion made flesh, she would be touching a part of him that went so deep he might not forgive her for the penetration. But she was opening herself to the same exposure, and that was literally terrifying.

And ordinarily she would have believed the whole thing was utter rubbish. People didn't have _actual_ wells of energy inside, love wasn't a pool that you could jump into and swim about in. She loved Harry, more powerfully than anything she could conceive, but she didn't genuinely believe it could manifest in such an obvious manner.

But here was Harry's…doing _exactly_ that…right before her eyes.

And she had no idea what to make of it. All she knew was that she couldn't deny it, and that it was very, very real. And not only that, it was _appealing._ It might as well have been calling to her. Now what in the hell did _that_ mean? She and Harry were _in love_ , she was in no doubt of that. But did that love _reach out_ from them both, and meet somewhere in the middle?

Hermione knew it was love, even if she hadn't said it yet. She knew it in the way he looked at her, the way he held her, and the ways her body and mind responded when he was near. They both refused to bow to her usual commands. It was the subtle way her pulse sped and her temperature rose, the way those knots and butterflies coiled and writhed in her belly, the way her mind checked out when Harry's lips met her own…

And was the cause of it inches away now, just begging her to drown in it?

The temptation was growing more pronounced now. It was overpowering. Hermione had edged closer on instinct and the magnetic pull felt like a heat on her flushed cheeks. She couldn't explain _why_ she was flushed, but she imagined that every inch of her skin was blushing scarlet. That's just how it was. And what else was she supposed to do?

The only person who might have been able to help was Dumbledore, but after what they had just witnessed on the Marauder's Map, this torrent of Harry's emotional force was liable to become a terrible weapon if the Headmaster came within twelve feet of him. Hermione was as certain of that as she was that this same, unstoppable behemoth wouldn't so much as scratch her.

So, she took a steadying breath, counted on her courage and her steely conviction in their shared affection, and eased herself forwards.

And she immediately leapt back, right across the room in fact, propelled by the potency of Harry's energy.

"Oh…wow."

They were they only words Hermione remembered from the English Language just then. She had fallen back into the other couch in the room and just stared at Harry a moment, trying to catch her breath in rapid, shallow snatches. He hadn't moved. It was like he was in a trance, utterly unaware of the outside world. Hermione sucked in an astonished gasp at that. Could it be that Harry's very _perception,_ coloured by his spirit and emotion, was actually a part of that swirling vortex enveloping him?

Hermione rather thought it might be. And the understanding rocked her to her haunches. For it wasn't just emotion in that field…it was _everything Harry_. The force that made Hermione tremble and flutter when he was near, on her _own_ internal planes, was that thing now orbiting her boyfriend. And it's power took her breath away.

For she knew, without doubt, that it was _charged_ for her. It was akin to feeling that everything Harry felt, that he thought, that he hoped and dreamed for, was centered around _her_. He had never told her _that!_ That his emotion for her was this intense, this intoxicating! She would have to tell him off severely for depriving her of knowing that.

But the thought heated Hermione like a furnace. For if all that was _about_ her, then it also _belonged_ to her, to defend and protect. She had never felt so covetously possessive of anything in her life. She was its Mistress…and it would bow to her will.

"Right then, Harry," Hermione said briskly, standing and pulling back her sleeves. "Let's try this again."

She strode forward purposefully until she was looking Harry right in the eyes. He was in there somewhere, connected to the swirling mass enough to know that Hermione was there before him. She took a deep breath, as it seemed the right thing to do, then she relaxed every sinew of her being she could reach. She dropped any idea of caution, threw off the niggle of doubt that her self-consciousness clung to, then pushed forward into Harry's energy field again.

And for three seconds Hermione was swimming in a sea of bliss. Pure, euphoric, mindless bliss.

For Harry's essence enveloped her. It crept in through her pores and kissed warm and sensual against her skin. She shivered and tingled and felt something leave her own body. It snaked away like the shy tendrils of a plant, seemingly seeking out the compliment connection coming from Harry. For she was utterly certain that there _was_ a mirror-opposite reaching out for her. And they almost, _almost_ touched. But just then Hermione's outstretched hands reached Harry's cheek, and as she touched his cool skin, his energy shot back into him with a deafening rush of air.

And Harry snatched Hermione to him, the snap of his arms around her was almost desperate. Then he was whimpering, whispering to her rapidly, his hot breath a torrent against her cheek.

"Sorry…I'm so sorry…I just lost it…couldn't control…if I'd hurt you…"

"Sssh, sssh now," Hermione soothed, her hands rubbing soft circles on Harry's back. His grip on her was making it hard to get a full lung of air, but this was how he needed it, so Hermione had no intention of telling him to ease up. "You didn't hurt me. I'm alright."

"But I could have!" Harry moaned. "I didn't mean to. What's _happening_ to me, Hermione?"

"Does it hurt?" Hermione asked, her voice laden with concern. She hadn't considered that this might have _physical_ effects on Harry. It seemed a stupid oversight for her to have missed.

"No, but I'm cold…really cold," said Harry.

And he wasn't lying. Hermione ran the back her her palm over Harry's cheek. He was _freezing_ , his skin like frost to the touch. He was shivering violently, the little goosebumps under Hermione's hand felt almost as if they were vibrating.

"W-what's happening to me?" Harry repeated, looking up at Hermione with wide, questioning eyes.

"I don't know…" Hermione hushed. She slid closer to Harry on the couch, raiding her mind for some sort of solution. She ran her hand through his hair, and was shocked to find it soaked in sweat. Harry never took his child-like eyes from her.

"Can you make it stop? I'm frightened."

Harry's voice was infinitesimally small. But that wasn't the worst part. For him to _admit_ his fear aloud…that was so unlike Harry. It was a mark of just how keenly he felt this, how _serious_ it was. Hermione felt her heart break as she marked the depth of Harry's blinding worry in every rise and fall of his chest.

And he wouldn't stop shaking. Hermione continued to rub his back but nothing she did seemed to work.

"Harry, do you need me to get someone?" she asked, biting her lip. She looked to the window where a crescent moon was peeking through drifting clouds. "Madam Pomfrey should still be up. McGonagall too. It isn't that late and you look very pale."

"No, I…I'm just tired. I don't need anyone else. Please…don't go."

Hermione's heart bled a little more at Harry's plea, as he held her that little bit closer still. She was practically sat in his lap by this point. His breathing seemed to be levelling out though, the closer he could draw her to him. His hold on her was still needy, but not quite the death grip it had been before. But he did look burnt out, exhausted even. The expulsion of his magical force seemed to have wiped him of his energy.

"Perhaps we should get you to bed, get you some rest," Hermione suggested. "Can you make it up the stairs?"

"No!" Harry blurted out imploringly. "Please…stay with me…I-I don't want to be by myself."

And in that moment, Hermione made a decision. The rules be damned, she wasn't going to stand for them. Not where Harry's well-being was concerned.

All thoughts of Dumbledore and Voldemort forgotten, Hermione stood up, easing Harry's arms from around her waist. He was still shivering rather badly. He pulled her back, refusing to give up easily.

"Please…don't leave," Harry begged.

"I'll be right back," Hermione hushed, and she forced herself away from him.

Harry looked back, a bruised and hurt expression welling in his eyes. Was _this_ the betrayal the books meant? Harry looked traumatised, lost. Hermione knew she had to hurry, before that damage became irreversible. She raced up to her dorm, snatched her quilt and pillows and bolted back to the Communal Area.

And what she saw brought a shocking sob to her throat.

For Harry had curled up on the couch, his knees tucked tight into his chest as though he were trying to fold into himself. Crookshanks had leapt up into the arc of Harry's body and was alternately sniffing his face and pawing at his folded arms, trying to get access. The kneazle looked up and locked eyes with Hermione, throwing her an expression which clearly commanded, _"Do something about this!"_.

Hermione choked back another whimper, then hurried across the room. She flicked a locking spell at the door, tossed her wand… _somewhere_ …then gently eased a pillow under Harry's head. Crookshanks jumped onto the armrest of the couch to oversee proceedings, just as Hermione began gently coaxing Harry's arms and legs into a more comfortable and stretched out position.

Harry didn't seem to notice at first, but then Hermione softly pulled the quilt over him, and slipped out of her school skirt and shoes. Her black Gryffindor day robe came to just above the knee, so it would do a passable impression of a nightie for now. Hermione felt brazen about having so much flesh on show below the hem, but Harry's need was great and this was no time to be modest.

So she folded back the quilt, gave another middle-finger salute to the rules, and slipped in to make a warm cocoon with Harry right there on the couch.

"What…what are you doing?" he mumbled, his voice an octave higher than usual.

"I'm staying," she breathed, her tone gossamer-soft. She reached over and pulled him tight. "You need me…and I'm not going anywhere."

Harry couldn't speak. Hermione heard an attempt at words catch somewhere in his throat, but he settled on snaking his arms around her and burrowing his face into her hair. Hermione snuggled down and…what was that word Neville liked… _cwtched_ Harry back. Whatever was going on with Dumbledore and Voldemort, and the rest of the Merlin-damned insanity of the world, it could all just wait.

For tonight, Harry needed to be soothed…and Hermione was the only witch for the job.


	17. The Ratway Opens

Harry slept for nearly two whole days, waking only to take the morsels of food and water that his wracked body could manage at a time. Hermione stayed with him as much as she could, entrusting his care to Dobby for all the times she had to attend classes. She excused Harry's absence from lessons as his having a nasty bout of Muggle Swine Flu, which she inflated to be a highly infectious disease that was even nastier in Wizard form. She bore the expected snide remarks from Malfoy - regarding Harry being a swine at the best of times, so how could Hermione tell the difference? - as best she could, thankful that most wizards were too ignorant to delve more into the little ruse.

There were moments when Hermione worried that Harry might not recover at all, but he still refused all her entreaties for outside help, instead drawing strength and energy from her like a type of sponge. Hermione was happy to share with him in this way, despite how tired it made her. She was intrigued by how he was doing it, not that he was lucid enough to explain if he knew what he was doing or not.

On the third day after his explosion of magic, Harry was actually up before Hermione. They had taken to sleeping together every night on the couch, so that if Harry needed to draw energy from Hermione, at least she was resting and recovering as he did it. But on this morning, he rose early, had Dobby bring him coffee and croissants and he sat watching Hermione for a solid hour before she stirred and woke.

Hermione blinked in surprise as her sleep-mussed eyes clicked open. "Harry…you're up!"

"Morning to you, too!" Harry grinned. He poured two cups of coffee as Hermione sat up, passing one to her. "Did you sleep well?"

"Better than the last few nights," Hermione admitted. "But…how are you? You look loads better."

"Yeah, I feel alright today," said Harry. "I think I'm pretty much back to my old self."

"Now we both know _that_ isn't true!" Hermione laughed and, when Harry queried her with a puzzled look, she went on, "breakfast in bed? This is definitely a _new_ you! Not that I'm complaining."

"Yeah…about that," said Harry guiltily, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry about all this. You sleeping down here and everything. You must be really tired and achy. Cant have been nice for you."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry!" Hermione scoffed. "Sharing a bed with you has been…well…really quite lovely, actually. Apart from my worry about you. But, then again, I'm always worried about you. It was quite comforting to be so close, so I could look after you. You really do need looking after. I…I'll miss being back in my own bed, all alone."

"I'll miss that, too," Harry confessed shyly. "Thank you, for everything that you've done for me over the last couple of days…for all that you've _given_ me. I don't know where you learned to do that, and I can only guess what it cost you, but I'm really grateful. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"Hold on…I'm confused," said Hermione. "What? What are you talking about?"

"You must know," said Harry, perplexed. "All the energy you kept sending me…from _inside_ you. I think it kept me going. How did you do that?"

 _"I_ didn't do anything," Hermione replied, as baffled as Harry looked. "You were the one _drawing_ it from me. I was going to ask if you knew you were doing it. Are you saying you didn't?"

"Hermione…I didn't know _anything_ after that first night," Harry explained. "I was vaguely aware of you feeding me and stuff, but then I just remember…well…all I can call it is a _stream_ of energy coming from you. I assumed you'd sent it on purpose, but I was too out of it to tell you off, knowing you were draining yourself to help me and everything."

"Oh, Harry, if I'd known how to do that I would have totally done it, and given you everything I could spare," said Hermione, smiling cutely. "But, as it was, I thought _you_ were pulling power from me. Not aggressively or anything, but I knew you were doing it. So I let you take what you needed. How curious."

"What do you think that might have been?" asked Harry. "That's not _normal_ , is it?"

"We've certainly never done it before," Hermione mused. "But when I entered your field of magic I _did_ feel a connection with a deep part of you. Maybe we started something new when I did that. On that note…"

And with that she placed her coffee cup purposefully on the table, eased Harry's from his grip and put it next to it. Then she slid into his lap, linked her arms around his neck, and kissed him deep and soft and tender. When she finally broke away, shivering and breathless, Harry looked at her in spellbound wonder.

"W-what was that for?" he mumbled, that little tremor in his voice causing Hermione to swoon that she could melt him in such a way.

"I felt…what _you_ feel for me," she whispered softly, peppering his cheek from lip to ear with sweet little kisses. "And I'm really very, _very_ cross that you didn't explain that to me sooner."

"You certainly seem it," Harry grinned, turning his head to capture her lips again. "But I did _try_ telling you…"

"Not nearly explicitly enough," Hermione teased, snuggling her nose behind Harry's earlobe. "I expect you to go into far more detail about such things in the future."

"I'll do my best," said Harry. "But you know I'm not good at that…emotions and stuff. I don't know what I'm supposed to say."

"I know. I know how scary and hard such things are for you. But it's just me. You're safe with me…you don't have to be scared anymore."

"I know, and I promise to try," said Harry, hugging Hermione tight to him. She felt her breasts squash up against Harry's chest and suddenly remembered, as he gasped as he realised it too, that she wasn't wearing a bra. Hermione felt Harry shift awkwardly beneath her. Realising what was happening, Hermione jumped up quickly and went back to her coffee, adjusting her hair and giving Harry space to sort himself out.

"So," he suddenly said, in an oddly high-pitched tone. "We'd better discuss what happened."

"Um…what?" said Hermione, snapping her head around in shock. On reflex, her eyes dropped to Harry's thighs, but she pinged them up again quickly, fitfully embarrassed. She hoped he hadn't noticed.

He had.

"I…er…meant with Dumbledore and Voldemort," said Harry, blushing so much he seemed to be glowing. He crossed his legs in his bashfulness.

"Oh right!" Hermione cried, popping back to the couch. "Yeah…we really should."

For a few pregnant moments, they said nothing, neither knowing where to start. Then Hermione huffed crossly. She fixed Harry with her business-like stare.

"Oh, this is ridiculous!" she said briskly. "You're a boy, I know what happened, and I _looked_ , okay?"

Harry grinned boyishly. "It _is_ okay, actually. I…um…don't mind. You know. If you look. If you _want_ to look, I mean."

Hermione frowned at him. "But you're embarrassed. I can tell."

"How?"

"You crossed your legs!"

"Only because _you_ seemed embarrassed," said Harry. "I…um…look at _you_ , you know. Sometimes."

"Only sometimes?" Hermione quirked.

"I don't want to seem like I'm perving," Harry explained. "But it's so hard _not_ to look… _all the time_. You're so pretty and sexy and…everything. You make it pretty much impossible for me."

Hermione felt her head drift into the clouds at that, dreamy in a way that Luna would be proud of. She didn't think she'd ever felt _desired_ before. She'd felt Harry's love for her when she interacted with his energy field, but it was pure emotion. Despite how beautiful _that_ was, for some reason she hadn't made the leap to the physical manifestations that would naturally follow along with it.

But here was Harry, outright saying he blatantly ogled her. And Hermione Granger found the concept deliciously racy.

"Okay. From now on how about we _both_ give each other permission to look?" Hermione suggested. "There'll be no awkwardness or guilt or embarrassment. We are boyfriend and girlfriend…it's what we are supposed to do, isn't it?"

"I don't know…I've never had a girlfriend before," said Harry reasonably. "I'm still learning what's allowed and stuff."

Hermione found that admission adorably cute. "That's sweet of you, it really is. Don't worry, I'll let you know if you come close to crossing a boundary with me…then I'll tell you if I'm comfortable with it or not when you do."

"What sort of boundary?" Harry offered with a cheeky grin.

"Well, I suppose anything where any clothes come off," said Hermione, thoughtfully.

Harry's whole _expression_ went wide at that. Hermione had never seen that happen to anyone, and it made her erupt in laughter. Harry seemed Stunned beyond any level of _Stupefy_. She watched Harry open and close his mouth like a bullfrog, as he tried to think of a suitable response. It just made Hermione giggle that much deeper.

"Oh…okay," Harry managed to stutter eventually. "I think I like that solution. Okay."

Hermione laughed again, wiping her eyes with the back of her palm. "I think we should leave that kind of thing for when we are away from Hogwarts, though. I'd bet McGonagall is crafty enough to have flooded the Gryffindor dorms with chastity detection charms or something. Can you _imagine_ triggering one of those off? I'd be mortified, wouldn't you?"

"Actually, _no!"_ Harry smirked suggestively. "I'd not have a problem with people knowing what we were up to!"

"So much for defending my honour!" Hermione laughed, throwing a cushion at Harry. "Typical boy."

"Talking about things _away_ from Hogwarts," Harry began cautiously. "We really should discuss what's going to happen to you."

The air in the room turned sour at a stroke. Hermione's bright-eyed mirth was replaced by a stern frown. "There isn't much to discuss. I will stay here as long as I can, then I suppose we will just have to think of something. Everything is moving so fast, who knows what might have changed by then."

"No, I disagree," said Harry. "I don't intend to be so reactionary."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not going to wait for them to come for you," said Harry. "Nor am I just going to let you go somewhere at the last minute without checking that you'll be safe."

Hermione turned to him, her shoulders squared for a debate. "Harry…why does it sound like you're trying to send me away?"

"I think you can take out the word _trying_ …"

"Don't even _think_ about that!" Hermione cried. "And why are you making it sound like you wont be coming?"

"Because I wont," said Harry. "Hermione, you are in danger. I'm not strong enough to protect you. At least, not yet. We have to analyse all that Dumbledore and Voldemort were saying, try to find their weakness in it. Then you have to show me what I need to do in order to stop them. But you'll be a long way from this trouble by the time it starts."

"Don't be moronic, you can't do this on your own!"

"You're wrong," said Harry quietly. He was bracing himself to face Hermione's rising anger. "I _can_ do this alone. But not without your help."

"You can't honestly expect me to help you do all the work, then swan off to some safe haven and leave you to face possible _death_ by yourself?!"

Hermione was virtually shouting by this point. Harry took a steadying breath, allowing her a moment to fume, before he finally replied.

"That's exactly what I expect you to do."

"Well I wont," Hermione shot, stubbornly. "I wont do it."

"Hermione, listen to me…no _listen,"_ said Harry, rising to join her on the couch. She scooted away from his attempted embrace, arms folded across her chest. She felt stupid for not wearing a bra for some reason. "You are in direct danger. _I'm_ not. You heard what Voldemort said. He's not interested in me anymore. That means I can stay here and try to find out…whatever it is I need to find out. And for that, I _need you_. I can't do that bit by myself."

Hermione huffed, trying not to be pacified by Harry's compliment and his maddeningly rational argument. She hated herself in that moment, for the improvement in his logic that she'd wrought in him since they got together, something she'd been secretly proud of till that very moment.

"But there's still Dumbledore…and Ginny and Malfoy…and The Grey Robes…and…and," Hermione ranted desperately. "I wont go, Harry, I wont. I just _can't_. You're breaking my heart by even suggesting it."

"I know," said Harry, edging cautiously closer.

Hermione didn't retreat this time. She was at the end of the couch, so she couldn't anyway, but she permitted Harry to come within touching distance. And she really wanted to touch him, wildly, irrationally afraid that it might be for the last time. But she couldn't let him know that just now.

"I know," Harry repeated. "I feel like I'm tearing my _own_ heart out, too. But we have to face the reality…this is going to happen no matter how much we hate it. And, like you said the other day, if we can do this on our own terms, I think we should."

"But I can't _leave_ you!" Hermione cried, tears welling behind her eyes. "I just can't!"

"They're going to _take you_ from me…by force!" Harry cried back, his eyes equally as moist. "And they might take you somewhere I can't follow. I can't stand the thought of that. It terrifies me. It makes me physically sick. It's all my fault that you're in such danger again. You followed me to the Ministry, you might have drowned in the Lake during the Triwizard, you keep nearly dying on account of _me._ And I'm sorry, but I can't stop doing that. You mean too much to me to push away…but I _have_ to do this…I have to protect you."

Hermione went to say something, then changed direction. "What do you mean ' _I nearly drowned in the Lake?_ ' What's that got to do with anything?"

Harry swallowed hard. He'd been keeping this from Hermione all morning, the disembodied conversation he'd heard from the fireplace last night. It was another past echo of Dumbledore. He just _had_ to work out what this fire connection was…

"You could have drowned in the Lake, during the Second Task," said Harry, closing his eyes with the pain of the thought. "And it would have been my fault."

"But why? I wasn't your hostage," said Hermione, confused. "I was Viktor's."

"No, you weren't," said Harry, bitter at the mention of the Bulgarian pervert. "You were _mine_."

Hermione felt her jaw drop open in surprise, her anger forgotten a moment in the face of her curiosity. " _Yours_? But I don't understand."

"I…heard another conversation…it was from the fire this time," Harry began.

"When was this?" Hermione demanded.

"Last night," Harry replied. "It was from the past again, just before the Second Task, and it took place in here. Dumbledore started off talking to the Twins, Fred and George, you know."

"Do we know any other twins?" asked Hermione, somewhat waspishly. She was in no humour for a saga.

"Anyway," Harry ploughed on, deciding not to test Hermione's anger by mentioning the Patils. "Turns out he'd used this room to secretly ask Fred and George to find you and Ron, to have you sent to McGonagall in preparation for the Task. Makes sense, really, two of them for two of you. After they went though, Dumbledore was still talking…but it sounded like he was speaking to someone who wasn't there."

"How do you mean?" asked Hermione curiously.

"It was just the way he was speaking," Harry explained. "It was more like a discussion than just thinking aloud. I thought he might have been talking over a Floo - I saw Minerva do that once - but no-one was answering, so I don't think it was that."

"And what was he saying?"

"He was debating why you'd both been taken for the Task," said Harry. "He asked the question aloud, then said something like, ' _of course, it's something the champions will miss',_ but it was like someone _else_ told him. Then he thought aloud again, working out that the hostages weren't taken for simply who they were…but what they _represented_."

"Okay…I sort of understand that," said Hermione. "But what was Dumbledore's conclusion…and what makes you think _I_ was taken for you?"

"Dumbledore said the hostages represented aspects of our life that we champions would miss," said Harry. "He said Krum would miss the adulation of raving fans - which we can both agree describes Ron pretty well. Cedric liked being a Hufflepuff hero, embodied by snaring Cho, and Fleur would be lost without her family, so they took her sister."

"And you?" Hermione asked, her voice a quiver.

"I…I just couldn't do without the girl I was steadily falling for, even though I was too dense to know it at the time," Harry mumbled. "I couldn't do without a love that was all mine, just for me. It was something I'd never had, something I craved, and there was a girl giving it to me even though I didn't understand it properly.

"In short, I couldn't do without love…I couldn't do without _you_."

Hermione threw up her hands to catch a gasp that left her lips. She just looked at Harry, not sure quite what to say.

"Dumbledore even said it himself," Harry continued. "He mused that I didn't know it was happening, that I'd assume Ron was my hostage. He decided to plant that idea with everyone else. After all, it was he who spoke to the Merpeople to arrange the task and the message in the egg and everything. I don't know why he did that. But I think he _actively_ tried to make sure there was a certain distance between us…and after what we heard in his little chat with Voldemort the other day, I think we now know why.

"I think Dumbledore is _afraid_ of you, Hermione. And that makes him dangerous."

Hermione shuddered nervously at Harry's words, but even she couldn't dismiss them as nonsense. There had just been that something in the debate between Dumbledore and Voldemort…it hinted at wariness, if not outright fear.

"You…you can't think that Dumbledore will try to _harm_ me?" Hermione asked, her voice trembling at the idea.

"Where Dumbledore is concerned, I'm not prepared to _not_ think anything," Harry replied acridly. "He and I will need to have a serious conversation before I can decide anything like that."

"No, Harry, you really shouldn't do that."

"Do what?"

"Talk to Dumbledore…about anything that we now know," said Hermione.

"Don't be so dim," Harry spat. "Of _course_ I'm going to talk to him. Well, scream at him or curse him, actually, but I wont ignore it."

"I'm not saying _ignore_ it, just keep it to yourself," said Hermione. "Or just between us."

Harry looked at her like she'd sprouted a second head. "And why should I do that?"

"Because we know something he _doesn't_ ," said Hermione. "And in a world of secrets, we need to be clever in how we use that."

"So you're trying to say I'm _not_ clever for wanting to confront him?" Harry cried, incredulously. "You're saying I'm stupid for trying to be proactive?"

"No, Harry, that's not what I -"

"I think it's exactly what you're trying to say!" Harry yelled, his anger coming from nowhere. "You think I'm stupid for trying to make decisions without you. You don't seem to want to listen to me about putting you somewhere safe, even though you _know_ that you are in mortal danger, now you just want me to sit tight and wait to see what happens, just let Dumbledore manipulate me again. Because I'm just that reckless and _stupid_. I wonder whose side you are actually on sometimes."

"No, Harry, I didn't mean that at all," said Hermione, tears spilling from her eyes. "And of course I'm on your side!"

"You have a funny way of showing it," he fumed angrily. He stood up and went to leave. Hermione grabbed his sleeve to tug him back.

"Where are you going?" she sobbed. "Please, stay and talk to me."

"I'm going to try and find someone who wants to actually _do_ something," Harry replied, tugging free of Hermione's grip. "Someone who can see the merit in helping me put the girl I love somewhere safe, whether she likes it or not."

And with that, he yanked clear of her and stomped out of the room. Hermione watched in shock a moment, half expecting Harry to just come back in and explain that bizarre surge of anger. But he didn't, and in the frigid silence, something occurred to Hermione…something rather monumental.

Did Harry just say…the girl he _loved_? Had he openly admitted it to her for the first time?

Hermione's heart soared in spite of itself, despite the anguish of Harry's hurt tone. She leapt up in frantic hurry and raced after him, vaulting the stairs in pursuit. She had to barge aside a couple of frightened first-years as she flew across the Common Room, coming to a skidding halt in front of Seamus and Lavender, who had just entered the room.

"Out of my way!" Hermione yelled.

"Steady on, Hermione!" Seamus replied crossly. "I don't know where you think you're going in such a hurry."

"I'll go wherever I like!" Hermione thundered. "And there's nothing either of you can do to stop me."

"Perhaps not," said Lavender, stunned by Hermione's frantic state. "But the Fat Lady might."

"What the Merlin are you on about?"

"She's just gone to visit the portrait of Barnabus the Barmy. She wont be back till after breakfast. You're stuck in here till at least then."

Hermione veritably screamed in her frustration, causing Lavender to show unusual concern for her mental health. Hermione fobbed them off with a flimsy excuse, but both readily accepted. It seemed neither student knew how to handle Hermione Granger in such a fraught state.

Only Harry Potter knew that secret.

Hermione moved to the solid wall of the Portrait Hole, banging her head against the brickwork in her restless anguish.

"Oh, _Harry_ ," she whispered softly. "I love you, too."

* * *

Harry stared shamefacedly at the wall over Minerva McGonagall's head. But if he was expecting sympathy, he had come to the wrong Regent.

"I don't know why I did it," said Harry. "I didn't mean to. I just…got mad. I reckon Voldemort must have been in my mind, or something."

"Don't go looking for easy excuses," McGonagall replied sternly. "You acted appallingly, from what you said, so just accept it like a grown wizard and go and apologise."

"No, I wont do that yet," said Harry, gloomily. "I deserve to get a proper telling off, so I'll let Hermione stew for a little while, get nice and riled. Then I'll crawl back and hope for the best, I suppose."

McGonagall's severe expression soften a fraction. "Well…it was nice knowing you, Harry!"

Harry chanced a guilty smile, but McGonagall frowned at him again, so Harry turned his eyes away reticently.

"In any case, you know Miss Granger is right in what she said regarding the Headmaster," McGonagall went on.

"Of course I do," Harry yelped. "It's Hermione…when is she ever wrong? That's why I cant understand how I flipped."

"It is in keeping with your character," McGonagall observed. "You are too hot-headed for your own good. I have discussed this with Miss Granger myself. I'm relying on her to slow you up, Harry."

"You are? Why?"

"For your own good, for your own safety," said McGonagall.

She rose and took a seat next to Harry, resting her hand on his arm. Harry looked at it curiously. He realised in that moment that no-one ever really touched him…no-one except Hermione. And, as he looked at his Regent's hand on his arm, Harry rather thought he'd prefer it if nobody but Hermione touched him _ever again_. Oh, he owed her such a grovelling apology.

"Harry, I know you have this urge to race out and right the world," McGonagall continued. "But you have to be cautious when the odds are against you. And, with these new developments, the odds seem to be against all of us who err on the side of goodness."

"Then you do think I'm right…to want to put Hermione somewhere safe?" asked Harry.

"Of course you are," said McGonagall simply. "And I'm certain she knows that, too. But her devotion to you, her need to protect you and care for you, is _rabid,_ Harry. It turns her near feral. You must see what you ignite in her. Nothing sets her off in quite the way you do, Harry."

Harry slumped down in his chair. Far from buoying him, McGonagall's words simply made Harry feel yet more miserable. He sat listless and morose for a few moments, as McGonagall's words settled on him.

"But her safety is something we can focus on, without arousing suspicion," said McGonagall.

"How so?"

McGonagall reached to her desk and handed Harry a note. "This will go up on all Common Room notice boards from tomorrow. All students of non-Pureblood parentage are to submit to interviews, for purposes of _classification."_

Harry felt a spiky anger surge through his chest. "And what does that mean, exactly?"

"It means that the Grey Robes are going to start rounding up students in preparation for removal from the school," McGonagall replied. "The Headmaster does not want to draw attention to the fact that this is, in essence, an _evacuation_."

Harry clenched his knuckles. "Then why is he letting those grey twats do it? Why not do it himself? Or get you?"

"Language, Harry!" McGonagall chastised. "This has been on the agenda for sometime. Allowing the Grey Robes to conduct the interviews makes it seem like just the next phase of the project."

"But the non-Pureblood students will be turned over to the Grey Robes!" Harry cried. "They could do _anything_ to them under interrogation."

"You are getting carried away," said McGonagall, dismissively. "They are only gathering information at this stage."

"And you believe that, do you?" Harry retorted, practically yelling now. "Who told you that? Dumbledore?"

McGonagall pierced Harry with a firm stare. But he didn't shirk from it. "The Headmaster assures me that this is nothing more than collating a list. That list he will then use to get students safely away when the time comes."

Harry yanked his arm clear of McGonagall and stood angrily. "Have you listened to _nothing_ I've said? Dumbledore is a dangerous, deceptive _liar_! You can't believe him, you can't trust him! Why am I the only one who can see that?"

"Harry, mind your manners!"

"My manners!" Harry shrieked. "Dumbledore is pulling everyone like a marionette, he's placing Hermione into the hands of the Grey Robes, and you're worried about my _manners_!"

Harry stormed away, but McGonagall rose too.

"Where do you think you are going?"

"I have a date with the Headmaster," Harry riled. "He owes me a minute of his time."

 _"Colloportus!"_ McGonagall cried, locking the door with the spell.

Harry glared at her, feeling his magic drift across his skin. He suddenly knew what he had to do. He moved to the office door, breathed deeply, and _projected_ his magic at it. A spark jumped out of him like an electric discharge. Harry reached down to the handle, then opened the door as if nothing had happened. He turned to McGonagall, who just stared in open-mouthed shock.

"Good day, _Professor,"_ Harry hissed pointedly. Then he left slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Harry stalked through the corridors, each moment of his rage winding him tighter and tighter like a building dynamo. How had he done that in McGonagall's office? As quickly as he'd _known_ what to do, he instantly forgot it. He knew that his magic was charging inside him, but he had no idea how he was supposed to use it. Only that it was getting dangerously potent.

He hoped no-one came past and pissed him off, for this present was for the Headmaster alone.

Harry pounded through the corridors, left here, right at the suit of armour, up the spiral staircase and down Gargoyle Corridor to the tower where the Headmaster lived. He paused outside the office, which was oddly open, as voices drifted to him on the silent air.

Well, _one_ voice at least…

"Yes, yes, I know she's becoming at irritant," Dumbledore was saying. "What is it with Muggleborn witches and Potter men? They have a penchant for the uncontrollable."

Harry slammed himself against the wall, listening hard. It was difficult, as his pulse was racing and rushing loudly in his ears.

"I know that also," Dumbledore went on. "Using an _Unreasonability Hex_ on Harry was unfortunate, but necessary. It was a light spell, I'm sure he didn't notice. Now, what else did they say? Let's go over it again."

Who in the hell was he talking to? Harry's anger had reduced to background noise, his curiosity taking over. He crept close to the office, trying to be as stealthy as possible. He tried hard to remember if Dumbledore had a Foe-Glass in his office. He couldn't recall, but it might not have mattered. Dumbledore seemed to have the whole castle under some level of surveillance.

Harry felt violated by that. What else had Dumbledore heard…or seen. He could have spied on _anyone_. Harry was hit with a roiling, acidic sickness. What if Dumbledore had spied on Hermione? What might he have seen? Harry couldn't process the disgust at the possible desecrations that idea stirred. He bit his tongue, then tip-toed forward to see who else was in the office with Dumbledore.

But as Harry eased his head around the statue, all he saw was the Headmaster and his phoenix, who he was stroking affectionately. He seemed to be talking _to himself_...

And Harry _heard_ a thought in his head…and he wasn't sure if it was his own or not.

_A phoenix…fire…secrets…that's how he's doing it…_

Harry fell back against the wall, his heart beating harder still. He crunched his eyes together, trying to work out if that was his own thought, but it was speeding away from him like details in a dream. He felt nauseous as he tried to pull it back to him. Then he heard a shuffle in the office. He slid out from behind the statue and bolted along the corridor, not stopping until he was several floors away.

There he flopped down in the circular basin of one of the spiral staircases and tried to order his ragged thoughts. They were a mess, chasing each round and around his mind in a never-ending circle. What was the answer? _Think,_ _Harry!_ But thinking was _Hermione's_ forte. Harry's was to feel, to run off blindly and deal with the consequences later.

But he couldn't do that now. _He_ had to think, to channel his inner Granger. The thought made him smile. Hermione was inside him somewhere, he just had to coax her out.

"Okay, Harry…what do we know?" he said aloud, trying not to mock his girlfriend's accent. She might garotte him if she ever heard the terrible impression he did of her. "Dumbledore was talking to Fawkes…we heard a thought about a phoenix. What do we know about phoenixes? They renew themselves, they have healing properties and can manipulate fire for travel and communication.

"And Dumbledore can communicate with Fawkes over great distances. He called him to swallow the Avada Kedavra at the Ministry last year. But how? We are also hearing voices from torches and fireplaces…fire! That's it! That's the connection. But…does that mean we are hearing _Fawkes_ in the flames?

"No…we heard Dumbledore…it was him, talking to Mum. Come on, Harry! What are you not seeing? Dumbledore … Fawkes … torches … Dumbledore … Fawkes … fire … Dumbledore… _Fawkes?_ Is Dumbledore _Fawkes_? An Animagus? No, dickhead, they are always in the same room together. But then how else can…oh… _oh_! A goat, Harry…he used a _goat_ …No, Hermione…what if he _didn't_? What if he used -"

* * *

"Fawkes! Hello. What are you -"

_"Stupefy!"_

The phoenix fell to ground, dazed and confused. Hermione looked up in alarm.

"Harry! What in the name of Merlin are you _doing_!" she shrieked.

"Get away from him, Hermione, just get away. Now!"

Harry sounded so wild and angry that Hermione didn't dare defy him. She jumped back and close to Harry, who had come up tight and slid his arm around her, while the other kept his wand firmly on the Stunned phoenix. Harry was holding Hermione so protectively close that Hermione forgot for a moment that she was supposed to be mad at him.

But only for a moment.

"Have you had time to cool off now?" she asked brusquely.

"There will plenty of time for you to be mad at me," said Harry. "And I promise I'll just sit there and take both barrels from you. It's the _least_ I deserve. But not now. It isn't safe for you at Hogwarts anymore."

Hermione just looked at Harry with a nonplussed expression.

"And does this have anything to do with you Stunning the Headmaster's pet bird?" she asked, sardonically.

"This is no _pet_ , Hermione," Harry hissed. "It's a Merlin-Damned _Horcrux."_

" _What_?" asked Hermione, aghast.

"More than that, it's _Dumbledore's_ ," Harry went on breathlessly. "That's what I've been hearing in the fires around the castle. I don't know how, but something is triggering memories from the soul fragment Dumbledore implanted into Fawkes. He's been following me, maybe spying, I don't know, but using Fawkes to do it. But something is reacting to it, trying to warn and prepare me. I…I think my Mum is trying to protect me somehow. I know that sounds _stupid…_ but I just know it. I can _feel_ her."

"Nothing about you is stupid," said Hermione, giving up her pretend moodiness as a bad job. She leaned in and kissed Harry deeply. She'd been waiting _hours_ to do it. "But if you ever try to be so irrationally argumentative with me again I'll get properly cross, okay? And I'll row _back…_ which wont end well for you!"

Harry chanced a laugh and hugged Hermione to him. "Deal. But you have to accept that you might need to leave soon."

"Maybe sooner than you think," said Neville, bursting in through the door to the Communal Area. He looked down at Fawkes. "Harry…why is there a phoenix on the floor?"

"He's taking a nap," said Harry blithely. "Forget that…what are you on about?"

"We don't have time to go into detail," said Neville. He seemed primed for action. "We just need to move. As in _right now_."

Harry didn't hesitate, guiding Hermione after Neville as they left the Communal Area.

"What is it, Nev?" asked Hermione.

But as soon as they hit the Common Room they saw quite clearly, _what_. For over by the notice board, a short line of students was being led out of the Portrait Hole by Ginny and Ron Weasley. Harry stalked to them.

"What the hell is going on?" Harry demanded.

"Sorry, Harry…really sorry," Ron mumbled. He looked anywhere but at Harry's face.

"What is this?" asked Hermione, coming up on Harry's shoulder.

"We are collecting all the students who need to prove their blood status," Ginny snarled maliciously. "This first lot are all dirty Muggleborns. So they go first. Oh look, Granger, your name is on the list. Into line with you. And kindly deposit your wand into the box as you pass. You wont need it where you're going."

"Don't let her do it, Harry!" Neville whispered into his ear. "I heard that Hannah Abbott and Terry Boot went for an interview earlier…and they've not been seen since."

Harry made half a move for his wand, but suddenly Ginny, Ron, and six other Grey Robed students, who were stood in the corridor outside, all had their wands out…and pointed right at Hermione's heart.

Harry felt his own crunch into his chest at the sight. He breathed hard, wondering how on earth he was going to get out of this. He glowered at Ron, anger pulsing in his temples.

"How could you?" Harry scythed. "You were our friend! But you're nothing but a dirty coward. Does it feel good, buddying up to the likes of Malfoy? You disgusting traitorous _coward_."

"Sorry…I'm sorry," Ron muttered again. Then he suddenly flicked his wand, firing a Blasting Curse at the Fat Lady's portrait, sending it spinning down the staircase. Ginny roared and darted forward angrily, but Ron turned and punched her straight and hard in the face, knocking her out cold. He looked in to the Common Room just as the Portrait Hole began to close, locking eyes with Harry at last. "I'm sorry…I hope you can get her to safety…I…I'll buy you some time, if I can."

Then the hole closed between them. Harry turned to Hermione, who just shrugged, clearly as stunned as he was.

"Come on, we have to get out of here," said Neville. "But...how?"

"The fire escape," said Harry, suddenly desperate. He turned his wand on the fireplace. " _Dissendium!"_

The logs and hearth fell away, re-shaping as a shallow, stone stairwell. He breathed deep in relief then led the way along the hidden route, which closed behind them as soon as Neville was through. They hurried round and around, cursing the height of the old tower. It seemed to take an age, but eventually they were sprinting out of a door in the base and into the fading sunlight of the Hogwarts grounds.

"Where now?" cried Harry, looking around in search of inspiration.

It arrived in the form of a Thestral-drawn carriage, which hurtled along the lawn and came skidding to a stop next to them. The door opened, and Professor Roth stuck her head out.

"Get it! Get in!" she implored.

Harry needed no second invitation. He bundled Hermione in first, then jumped up himself, before turning to help Neville clamber to join them. Professor Roth wasn't the only one in the carriage, her daughter and Enola were also there. Neville embraced his girlfriend as the carriage shot off at some pace.

"Where are we going?" asked Harry, watching as the grounds of Hogwarts sped past.

"I think it's time I take a sabbatical," said the Defence Professor, dryly. "And there was me thinking I'd helped _lift_ the curse on this job. Well, I don't envy my successor. But at least I got out with my limbs intact!"

"It must be a new shortest record," said Hermione, with a wry smile. "But how did you know?"

"Professor Dumbledore is an incredible fool," said Celesca suddenly, taking everyone by surprise not just because she was _speaking_ , but because her tone was so cold and steely. "He thought he could use my gifts to his own advantage, but I think he is called _Dumb_ -bledore for a reason. He didn't seem to understand that I knew all he was planning, all he wanted to do. As soon as he decided to put me in danger, I knew all about it. He's an old idiot. We just stayed long enough to know what his endgame was, and where I fitted into it."

"And?" Harry pressed. "What was it?"

"We don't have anything like that kind of time to explain now," said Lady Roth. "But don't worry, we'll let you know."

"How?"

"Hermione will tell you, for it's all about _her_ , really," said Celesca.

"What do _I_ know?" asked Hermione. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You don't…but you _will_ ," said Celesca. "You have incredible power, Hermione, and you don't even know it. Harry's power…the one he _knows not_ …it's _you._ Or you can help him bring it out…or it's both of you. I haven't quite worked it out yet. But we will find it out, _together_. I'll help you, if you let me."

"What my daughter is trying to say, Hermione," said Lady Roth. "Is that we are taking you with us, back to our coven in Wales. You'll be safe there, and you will learn the basics of our ways. And then Celesca will help you investigate this power you have…before sending you back to help Harry put everything right."

Hermione and Harry exchanged looks, thinking a million things between them.

"How long will that take?" asked Hermione quietly.

"As long as it needs to, and not a second sooner or longer," said Lady Roth cryptically.

Harry didn't know what to say. He seemed to have temporarily forgotten his language skills. Hermione, too, had lost her voice somewhere in her mass of confused thoughts. They both struggled for coherency until the carriage suddenly shuddered to a halt and the door opened.

"Welcome, please hurry…time is short."

"Lupin!" Harry exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"I believe I'm officially declaring the _Potter Ratway_ open for business," he replied gravely. "I'd have liked it to be under better circumstances, but…"

His words tailed off. He busied himself helping everyone from the carriage. Harry felt unreasonably afraid, and wondered if he'd been hit by Dumbledore's curse again. He wrung his hands as he jumped down from the carriage. He didn't take his eyes off Hermione as she, too, disembarked. He felt stupidly like he had to drink her in, build up a storehouse of images of her.

As though he wouldn't be seeing her again for a very long time. Being alone without her was a concept that truly terrified him.

And Hermione was doing exactly the same. She wanted to cry out, to laugh against the nonsense of the notion. But it was no pretend thing. She was about to part from Harry and there wasn't a damned thing she could do about it. She suddenly launched herself at him, gripping him so tightly that her arms throbbed from the pressure. He held onto her just as firmly. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be. It just wasn't real. They were asleep, that would be it. She would break from the hug and be laying on the couch in the Prefects Common Room again, ready to feed Harry some water, maybe he'd manage a bit of toast today…

But then a firm hand was on Hermione's shoulder, pulling her away from Harry. How dare they! She ought to curse them for it. But the break apart had allowed her to see where they were. And it stunned her greatly, bringing the reality slamming home.

For they were at Hogsmeade Train Station, the Express was waiting in a cloud of billowing smoke, and three carriages of frightened little faces were peering out at her.

"Time…time to go," said Lupin, softly.

"No!" Hermione dived at Harry again, gripping him close and kissing every bit of his skin she could reach. She kissed salty tears and dared not look at Harry's face, his heaving shoulders betraying his distraught state. He held her as close as he could manage, as though trying to fuse them together.

"Harry," Lady Roth said gently. "You have to let her go. The school is swarming with Grey Robes…it wont take them long to track us. We have to go…right now."

Harry waged a fierce war with himself. He couldn't do it…he couldn't say goodbye. But he couldn't keep Hermione, either. They'd kill her if they found her…and he couldn't even have nightmares about something so horrific. He took a huge breath, summoned all the courage his father and mother had spilt into him…then eased Hermione away from him. She resisted terrifically…but Harry held firm.

"It…it'll be o-okay," Harry whimpered. "We…we-we'll speak soon."

"No, no, no," Hermione wept, shaking her head so vigorously that her hair flopped around in crazy patterns. Harry reached up and ran his hands through its lustrous depths…he wouldn't even _think_ the phrase _for the last time_. Tears were coming freely now from the both of them. "I wont g-go."

"Yes, y-you will. And you'll survive. You'll stay alive…no matter how hard it gets…no matter how long. Then you'll come and find me…and we'll stop all of this."

" _Harry!"_ Hermione powered through Harry's restraint and clutched at him again, wracked with fresh sobs.

"Harry," said Lupin, suddenly deathly serious. "They are coming."

Harry glanced through Hermione's hair and saw, way down the hill, a cluster of Grey Robed figures. He looked at Lupin...and just shook his head.

He couldn't do it…so his old teacher had to do it for him.

Lupin stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Hermione, dragging her powerfully away from Harry's grip. She screeched out and cursed and cried, kicking her legs in protest as Lupin lifted her bodily clear of Harry's arms. The sound cut to him like physical pain and he fell to the floor and bawled out himself. Then he saw Hermione being bundled onto the Express, where the door was locked firmly behind her. She fought and scratched and bit at Lupin until he let her go, but she could only uselessly fiddle with the lock as the train began to move.

" _Harry!"_ Hermione cried out again, her tone so anguished Harry thought he'd never heard a worse sound in his whole life. It stirred him to his feet and he began running after the train as it gathered speed.

"I love you, Hermione!" Harry called out, as she moved faster and faster away from him. He saw her mouth something back, but the words were lost under the screech of the wheels, as the train hurtled into a tunnel on the first spur of track and disappeared from sight.


	18. The Halcyon Gardens

For several days Harry simply wandered the castle as if he were a ghost. It was easy to haunt the largely empty halls and corridors deprived, as they now were, of over a third of their usual occupants. Easier, too, now that Harry was beaten, broken inside without a curse having even been cast in anger. He rarely spoke, as ghosts rarely do, to the living souls he was haunting, and they barely noticed him floating around among them. It was as if he had no form, no energy, had been reduced to a half-life devoid of heart.

For his own had been ripped in two at Hogsmeade train station.

The sorrow over his parting from Hermione was the most complete and utter form of misery Harry had ever known. He wondered now, had he guessed it would be this bad, if he'd just given in and gone with her, if offered the chance of a do-over. Chosen to hide out in the wilds of the Welsh countryside and leave his quest to someone else. Someone who had nothing to lose.

For he did, and it was at once his greatest source of pain and most potent fuel of inspiration. And he'd sent her away. Hermione had been placed into danger because of him, because a Dark Lord existed as a counter-balance to his Prophecy-driven destiny. A Dark force who hated Hermione and the nature she represented. And fate had thrown them together, only to rip them apart when it seemed they needed each other the most.

Part of the pain was physical. When Harry had watched the Express gun through the tunnel and away from his view, he felt as if an iron glove had squeezed around his heart, yanking it through his ribs as if tethered to the couplings of the scarlet locomotive. His hand had grabbed at his chest to try and stop it, but it had broken through his futile effort. The deep shock of the heartache had left him numb, paralysed. If it hadn't been for Neville, dragging him bodily from the platform and into the dark recesses of the Forbidden Forest, the Grey Robes would have probably found him right there.

And who knows what might have happened to him then.

But far worse than the physical pain, was the mental anguish. It was the look of hurt in Hermione's eyes, as she reached out desperately for him from the carriage door. It was the knowledge that he had told Lupin to put her there, that he'd had no choice but to bring this pain to them both. Harry was almost overcome with the sense of guilt and self-reproach as it slithered through his mind. It was the worst he thought he could feel.

But it was worse even than that. It was as if he'd faced Voldemort himself and told him, _'please, don't kill me, I'm frightened. Kill Hermione instead, she doesn't matter. And I don't love her anyway'_ , and that she'd heard him say it, but pretended she hadn't to spare his feelings, but offered herself up in his place anyway because of her love for him. It felt that bad. A mixture of shame and fear and self-hate, because Harry himself had caused it.

So he felt nothing as he drifted through the castle, barely noticing the changes happening all around him. What did he care that scores of students were now missing, when the only one whose absence he _did_ care about wasn't there to give it all a frame of reference? Why should he care that Gryffindor Tower was no longer protected by a portrait, when the one resident he worried about was now far away and unaffected by the change?

Hermione was gone, perhaps forever. And without her, Harry wasn't sure how to carry on.

It was this that Harry thought about the most, the concept that caused him the acutest anxiety. He had practically no idea where Hermione might be. Worse than that, he had no idea how he was supposed to contact her. He didn't want to use Hedwig and the mystical skills of the Post Owls, lest she be tracked to Hermione's location, exposing her to danger. The Floo Network was similarly defunct, as Harry had never learned the name of Enola's Coven.

Then there was the prickly issue of Hermione's parents, safely ensconced in Grimmauld Place, unknowing in regards to the fate of their daughter. How long till they grew suspicious of her silence? Or would she find a way to contact them, perhaps use them as a conduit to Harry? He felt a cold dread at the notion, the idea that Hermione's parents might be drawn into this danger, too. For some reason, the thought made Hermione seem yet another level away, and Harry felt his grip on her slipping through his fingers.

So, for virtually the first time since they'd become friends, Harry Potter felt _disconnected_ from Hermione Granger. And the loneliness of the thought cut to him, terrified him in the most profound manner.

For Harry had always had a vague sense of where Hermione might be, and then he could fill in the gaps on her situation if he'd wanted to. In term time when they weren't together, she'd be in another lesson or entrenched in the library, likely surrounded a plethora of satellite textbooks circling Planet Hermione. During breaks at Christmas or at the end of the year, she'd be with her family or on holiday, and Harry could be reasonably certain of what she might likely be doing there too.

But now, he just felt a hollow void where this familiar pool of knowledge used to be. Harry couldn't even guess where Hermione was, had no idea what it might be like inside an actual magical coven. He'd only loosely come across the term in his studies, and had never delved deeply into the topic. Would Hermione be okay out there? Comfortable? Well fed? Would they make sure she was warm at night? Would she have plenty of books to read and something fluffy to hug when she slept, because Crookshanks had been left behind?

Harry had never been so worried about anything as he was about this, had never imagined that falling in love would come with such unexpected, dizzying bouts of fear. And he was in constant conflict within himself. He knew that Hermione was safe, though the price of separating from her was almost too much to take. But the cost of _keeping_ her would have been greater still, despite the joys of having her close by.

So Harry was living his own _Kobiyashi Maru_ , and Crookshanks was the only one who dared come close enough to see how he was doing.

The kneazle was the single creature who seemed to understand Harry's sense of mournful loss. That first night he'd padded around the Prefects Tower, looking for his mistress, who would not be returning. He'd looked at Harry with questioning, accusing eyes, only to recognise in him that deep hurt and offering him what comfort he could by proxy. He'd been Harry's constant bedfellow ever since. But nothing could replace Hermione's presence, her ever-ready promise of companionship and counsel. Harry literally didn't know what he was going to do without her. And he was scared.

In truth, he felt hopelessly lost.

It was in this listless state that Harry passed the weekend. The Grey Robe liaisons at Hogwarts, a pair of cruel siblings called The Carrows, didn't have much interest in him, nor the students smuggled away on the Hogwarts Express. They had quite enough student detainees to be dealing with for the time being. Harry allowed that for the hidden blessing it was - at least Hermione wasn't being hunted, wherever she was. At least, not yet.

So Harry was allowed to go about largely unbothered. He was so heartsick that he didn't really notice the subtle and not-so-subtle alterations that were being made to the school. He was being actively avoided, as though some sort of people-repelling force was encircling him. It wasn't until Monday morning that he really began to snap out of it, when Neville and Luna combined their own marrow-deep misery and tackled Harry head on.

Later, Harry would feel several degrees worse for not realising that his friends were hurting too. They had also lost in this, their girlfriends having left on the same train that separated Harry from Hermione. Neville, who had finally started to come into his own, was now without his fiercest champion. And Luna, so often alone, had not only lost Celesca, but could also no longer provide comfort to a girl who so desperately needed it. Luna had covetously taken Celesca's care onto herself, and now she worried that she'd been selfish in doing so.

"What will she do without me, being so far apart as we are?" Luna wept, as Harry tried awkwardly to console her. "She must be in so much pain. I know _I_ am!"

Neville took a doughty breath. He, of the three, seemed to be the one assuming the responsibility of galvanising them. "Cesc and Ennie and Hermione will be looking for comfort and strength in each other, and expecting us to do the same. So we bloody well will."

And with that, he threw an arm around Harry and another around Luna, and drew them into a surprisingly strong group hug.

"We will only get through this together," Neville continued. "And we can help each other, whether we need to cry or rage or whatever. The three of us can do this if we stick with one another."

All of them took powerful breaths at that, pushing their foreheads together in a show of solidarity.

"You're right," said Luna, drying her eyes. "Cesc will be able to tell if I'm unhappy, so I wont be anymore. For her. And you should do the same, Harry. Hermione will only be worried about you, you don't want that, do you?"

"No," Harry breathed out tiredly. He felt a bit of his angst go with the puff of air. "I know it was the right thing to let her go, but…I…I just didn't think it would hurt like this."

"I know," Luna smiled, sadly. And she absolutely did know. "I remember when I first felt that sort of hurt. It was over Mum. When her experiment went wrong. I think she took a little bit of me with her, to the other side. But that was okay, because she needed it where she was going, to keep her company in case she got lonely. I still had Daddy, and he needed a bit of me, too. Because he was ever so upset, I remember. It feels a little like being broken into uneven, spiky pieces, doesn't it? Ones that you don't think will ever fit back together inside you. But they will, Harry. They _do_. Even if it isn't in _exactly_ the same way. They do. I promise you, they do."

Harry's heart wept for Luna, bled in powerful pity. He hugged her a little bit tighter, chiding himself for not understanding, for not seeing. She was aloof, she was different, but she felt and hurt just the same as the next person. And she was sympathetic, had been _empathetic_ when it came to Sirius last year. More than anyone…because she just _knew_.

And now she was hurting again, and Harry was too wrapped up in his own pain to realise that. He was channelling this all wrong. Hermione wouldn't want him to wallow, she'd want him to rise up and rage against it. Harry felt something heal inside, sensed his pain turn into something altogether more defensive and resistant. It steeled him.

"Yeah, yeah it does," Harry replied eventually, failing to mask his broken tone. "It feels _exactly_ like that."

"You really do like her, don't you? I didn't realise you liked her this much."

"Like her? I _love_ her!" Harry cried, not even slightly embarrassed. "I. Love. Her. I've never known anything like it. I don't even remember when it happened. It was just _there_ …like a quantum leap sort of _suddenly_. And now I can't remember ever being without it…and I'm terrified that I'll never get her back."

"You will, Harry," said Neville firmly. "We will get them all back."

"I wish I had your confidence, Nev," said Harry. "I just didn't realise how much I _need_ Hermione until she wasn't here. I _ache_ without her…my whole body just bloody _aches_ …all the time. And I can't focus on anything else. I think that…I think everything I did was just _for her_. Nothing else…just her. All the time, everything. Now she's gone…and I just cant move."

"She isn't _gone,_ Harry," said Luna, squeezing his shoulder. "She's just hiding for a little while. And when she's ready to come back, wouldn't you like to welcome her home to somewhere much safer?"

"Of course I would, but I don't know how."

"Let's dealing with the _knowing_ first," said Neville.

Harry sent him a querying gaze. "Knowing what?"

"All the crap going on around here for a start," said Neville. "Time to open your eyes, Harry."

"What have I missed?"

"I've fondly dubbed it _The Grey Annexation of Hogwarts,"_ Neville quirked. "But you should see this for yourself."

He started walking and Harry and Luna followed. Neville turned to Harry as he fell into stride alongside him. "They've taken down the Fat Lady's portrait and…well…they _burned it_ , Harry."

"They _what_!" he cried. The idea made Harry unexpectedly angry. The Portrait had always just _been there_. It seemed a capital crime to destroy it so callously. "Why would they do that?"

"The GR are removing all the restrictions on the castle," Luna took over. "Someone took the eagle off our Common Room door yesterday, so now there's just a big hole in the wall. It's not very pretty, nor as fun as when you had to answer a question to get in. I don't think so anyway. I preferred it the way it was."

"You had to answer a question to get into your Common Room?" asked Harry. "That's weird."

"Not really, it was just another way to learn, you know," said Luna serenely. "But I can see what you mean."

"They did the same with the Hufflepuff badger," said Neville. "Apparently, you had to tell it a truth every day, or show that you had helped someone, or it wouldn't let you in, either."

"I miss the Fat Lady already," Harry smirked. "What about the Snakes?"

"Can't say I've asked," said Neville acridly. "Not that it much matters. We'll all be the same by the end of the week."

"Meaning what?"

"Don't you understand, Harry?" asked Luna sweetly. "The GR are disbanding the Houses. We will all be the same soon, same colour, same banner, everything."

"Yep. Green, silver and a flayed skull," said Neville darkly. He nodded ahead, at two giant banners that had been, at that most opportune moment, unfurled from turrets either side of the huge entrance door to the castle. They were, indeed, acid green, with a vast silver circle at the centre, and a menacing skull motif in the middle of that. It looked like something out a nightmare.

"Sweet mother of Merlin!" Harry breathed in horror. "What's next? A new school song about killing Mudbloods and eating them for breakfast?"

"I don't think the Sorting Hat would like singing that," said Luna thoughtfully.

Soon they were walking up the steps and entering the castle, those giant banners looming balefully overhead, and a thought occurred to Harry. "Er, why aren't you two in classes?"

"Cancelled, mate," said Neville. "Ahead of a new academic schedule which will start soon. Didn't you see the posters?"

"No, I was too busy feeling sorry for myself," Harry fumed. He was being fanned to fighting form now. He grinned malevolently, thinking this was how Hermione would prefer him to be right now. Then they walked into the Great Hall…which was undergoing some changes.

"Oh… _fuck_!" Neville exclaimed.

"What…what are they doing?" asked Harry, trying to ignore another dozen Death Eater banners swaying from the enchanted ceiling above them. His focus was on the floor, where a mix of house-elves and older students were sweatily hacking the House tables to bits.

"No idea," said Neville, scratching his chin in puzzlement.

"Hey… _hey!_ " said Harry angrily, running up to McLaggen, who was resting on an axe nearby. "What in the hell are you doing?"

"Orders," said McLaggen. He sounded exhausted. "Chop up the tables, they said. So I chop."

"Why?" Harry demanded.

"I'm a half-blood, so I have to work," said McLaggen. He looked dopier than usual, which stunned Harry as much as anything, for he would have decried such a thing as impossible prior to this, but his eyes were shockingly bland and unfocused. If Harry had to guess, he'd say McLaggen looked like he was under an enchantment. "Work will make us free, that's what they said. So I chop."

"What are you breaking the tables for?" asked Neville.

McLaggen looked at him, but his stare was distant. "No more house tables. All individual pews now. First we break the old, then remake anew. I have to get back to work."

Harry was deeply concerned. McLaggen looked fit to drop, he was swaying as he took up his axe again. "Cormac, take a break. At least get some water or some food. You look knackered."

"Work will make me free," McLaggen repeated robotically. "Wont get food without work. Goodbye."

And with that he just walked away.

"What the hell is going on, Harry?" Neville whispered.

Harry wished he hadn't, for the source of information had spotted them and was sauntering his way over.

"I see you've met the labour force," said Malfoy, slithering his way up the hall to taunt them at close quarters. "What do you think of the changes so far, Scarhead? I'm sure you'll agree we're improving things around here. Or are you still too busy moping over the loss of that frizzy-haired, know-it-all magic thief you've been knocking off?"

"Magic thief!" Harry snorted. "Says the prick who hangs around with trolls like Crabbe and Goyle. If they are the poster children for Pureblood mania I think I'd sooner be a Squib!"

"No, the _poster child_ is a little more pleasant to look at," Malfoy sneered. "And I'm not much into gingers myself. But, she does make an appealing advert for our movement."

Malfoy nodded to a point over his shoulder and Harry looked in spite of himself. There, near the High Table, a photoshoot was taking place. A magical cameraman was fevered in his element, snapping pictures of Ginny Weasley in a variety of poses. Harry could only shudder at what they might be used for.

Malfoy seemed to read his thoughts. "Don't get all perverted, Potty. There's nothing lewd going on. Ginevra has been chosen to be the face of our new school and Higher Education prospectus. She embodies all that is good about our movement, proving that Lord Voldemort is forgiving of all Purebloods, no matter their background. You'll learn all about that when you receive your new set of school textbooks."

Harry was reasonably convinced he wouldn't want to hear the answer to his obvious next question, but he had to ask it anyway. "What new set of school textbooks?"

"You'll see in due time," Malfoy smirked evasively. "But the only one you have to worry about right now is the new _School Manifesto_. It's out with that worthless _Hogwarts: A History_ heresy and in with _My Struggle: Lord Voldemort, Memoirs of a Prophet._ It will be required reading for _all students_. Weddings will have to be sworn on it, each citizen will be required to own a copy. If you ask Miss Weasley _very_ nicely, maybe she will give you hers. I understand she's memorised it already. Oh, and you can pick up a set of a new school robes from her, too, while you're at it. I think you'll like the colour...after all, _grey_ is all the fashion, don't you know?"

Harry felt a vitriolic hated stir in his stomach, writhing and squirming and coiling like a restless cobra waiting to strike. Malfoy didn't seem to notice the sleeping dragon he was tickling.

"Yes, I never thought I'd be able to stand a Weasley, but maybe Ginevra will prove me wrong on that score," he drawled on. "After all, to be elevated away from the scum of the Weasleys is quite the fillip for her. It invites reward and recognition."

"And what did she have to do for that? Offer her womb to You-Know-Who?" Neville snarled.

"Oh, nothing so crass," said Malfoy smoothly. "It was a far _easier_ task. Namely, turning over her treacherous brother to our Senior Agents. Dear me, I wouldn't want to be in _his_ shoes right about now. Or ever, actually. I hear traitors get a worse deal than the Mudbloods. I mean, Mudbloods can't help being Mudbloods, any more than a pig can help being a pig. But _blood traitors_ like Ron Weasley, well…they don't have the luxury of that sort of excuse, do they? They _earn_ the punishment…they deserve all that they get, if you ask me."

Harry felt the bottom drop out of his belly. He and Ron had fallen out in a major way, when Harry and Hermione had chosen each other over their petulant 'third wheel'. But Ron _had_ been their friend for so long, their closest apart from one another. Harry remembered all that now, all their laughs and scrapes and adventures, and also Ron's actions in helping Hermione to get away mere days ago….his one final act as their friend. Harry was hit with a roiling jolt of sickness as the thought coursed through him, anger and guilt all mixing and churning unpleasantly in his gut.

Ron had been his first friend and, despite everything, he didn't want it to have ended like this.

Part of him riled at not being able to say goodbye, to have not been able to enjoy the good bits of Ron, even if it had meant him _teasing_ Harry good-naturedly about the wonders and joys of his relationship with Hermione. Harry ached with regret, for missing Ron gently ribbing him for being so gushing and so willingly under Hermione's beautiful thumb. For not being able to hear his bound-to-be terrible advice for anniversary gifts, or wild excuses to use on Hermione when Harry staggered home a little too tipsy, or for not being able to double-date, or plan each other's Stag Parties, or visiting each other at Christmas, or crying together as they both hopelessly struggled to change nappies on their bawling, wriggling first-borns…

And Harry _snapped_.

He snapped because of Ron, because of their being estranged at the end. Because he made a sacrifice, by way of apology, that Harry couldn't tell him he accepted or say 'thank you' for. And he snapped at Dumbledore. And Voldemort. And even Hermione a bit, for showing him the intense force of love and what it felt like to miss it so acutely.

And Draco Malfoy was hit with the full impact of Harry breaking bad.

For Harry walloped him, punched Malfoy so hard that he fell over. And Harry leapt on top of him and he punched him again. And again and again. He pounded down with one fist after another, mindless, screeching in his unrelenting fury. Blood spurted from Malfoy's cheeks, his jaw…his eye socket was crushed under the force of Harry's blows. Harry felt his own knuckles crack but even this didn't stop him.

It was only the force of a spell from Dumbledore that prevented Harry from beating Draco Malfoy to death right there in the Once-Great Hall.

Harry felt the spell like a hook behind his navel. It pulled him clean into the air and twelve feet across the hall, where he landed rather gently at the Headmaster's feet. Harry looked up, his rage stoked even further by the annoying wrinkles in Dumbledore's face. He made to get up, primed for a fight, but Dumbledore had clarity of thought, where Harry only had senseless rage. And he also had superior magical power.

"Stay where you are, Harry!" Dumbledore yelled.

It was the sound that made Harry still, rather than the spell he felt pin him down. For Dumbledore was _angry_ with him. For the first time Harry could remember. It wasn't anger at a version of him potentially possessed, as it had been the last time Dumbledore hit him with magic, but this time he was genuinely infuriated with _him_. Gone was the kind, almost grandfatherly air that Dumbledore usually reserved for Harry.

No, this time, the Headmaster was furious with him directly. And the threat it carried vibrated in Harry's bones. Luckily, there was someone stupider than Harry in the room.

"Dumbledore! You will turn the boy over to me! He will face charges for this blatant, unprovoked assault!"

Harry turned his head in angry astonishment. For Percy Weasley, resplendent in a slate-grey robe with a prominent green and silver chest circlet, was marching across the hall, fit to bursting with animated purpose.

"This is still my school," Dumbledore replied dangerously. "I shall decide how to hand out punishment until that situation changes."

"You are a mere Headmaster, not above the law," said Percy coolly. "You will hand Potter over to my jurisdiction."

Dumbledore turned his eyes, spitting with malice, coldly on Percy. "Or _what_?"

Percy gulped. "Or…or I shall take him from you."

In any other situation Harry would have been highly amused at that, but what happened next was no laughing matter. For Percy made an insane move for his wand. In response, and with age defying reflexes, Dumbledore slashed his wand and at once severed Percy's hand clean off at the wrist. Percy shrieked out in agony and crumpled to the floor, clutching at his stump, which was spewing out blood in astonishing gouts of fluid.

Dumbledore looked utterly unmoved. "Threaten me again, you foolish boy, and I will not merely take your hand…but your _life_. Now pick up your lost limb and get the hell out of my school…before I _really_ lose my temper." Then Dumbledore looked down at Harry, his expression still shiveringly fierce. "And _you_ …I think it is high time we have a heart-to-heart, don't you?"

And Harry felt his heart tremble with the threat laced into his mentor's words.

* * *

Across the country, Hermione felt her own heart twinge. It made her sit up and massage her sternum. She panicked a moment, lost as she was in the dark of an unfamiliar room. The candelabra hanging from the wall had been trimmed, and it swayed gently in the breeze from outside, flecking the panelled walls in shimmering bursts of deep orange and ochre. The circular wooden chalet was cosy and safe, and would have been such a perfect place for a rustic, romantic getaway.

But Hermione tried not to think of that, as it made her heart ache with the misery of what she was missing.

She sat fully up, pulled her knees into her chest, and wrapped the thick woollen blankets tight around her shoulders. They weren't really _blankets,_ but more like dense furs, and the chalet was a sort of Celtic yurt or wooden igloo. Hermione had already been into the fields nearby to thank the shorn sheep for their donation to human comfort. They bleeted back in a sort of thanks, though Hermione had no idea if she'd successfully communicated her intentions or not. After all, applying the things she'd learned about cat language to _sheep_ was very much a trial-and-error sort of thing.

And language was something Hermione knew she'd have to get a handle on very quickly here. Because, in her new surroundings, English was only used when strictly unavoidable. And not at all if it could be helped. The native language was intrinsically linked to the protections on the place, and used almost exclusively by the many residents who called it home.

Neither Enola nor Celesca had warned Hermione about this. But as soon as they passed through the perimeter boundary of the Coven, their chatter changed from accented English to rapid, lyrical Welsh. Hermione was deeply envious that the girls had switched language so effortlessly, bemoaning Hogwarts dearth of bilingual options. And she was cross at not understanding for a time, even though she could just about guess that they were simply worried about her from their looks alone.

"Ydych chi'n meddwl y bydd hi'n iawn? Mae hi'n edrych yn welw iawn," Enola asked in concern.

"Mae hi'n gweld eisiau Harry yn unig," Celesca replied, offering Hermione a sympathetic smile. "Mae'n anhygoel pa mor ddwfn mae hi'n ei garu, wyddoch chi."

"Girls, girls!" Hermione protested helplessly. "I can't understand what you are saying. Please, I feel alone enough as it is…don't shut me out like this too."

"I'm sorry, Hermione," said Enola quickly. "Or… _mae'n ddrwg gennyf_ , if you prefer. We didn't think."

"No, I'm sorry, too," said Celesca sheepishly. "It just comes naturally to us. When we cross the boundary, if sort of shimmers on our skin. It feels like home…and we just stop speaking English. We won't speak Welsh around you again."

"You don't have to do that," said Hermione, lightly. "But if you're talking about me - or Harry, I heard you mention his name in there somewhere - I'd just like to be able to join in. I'm not against learning a few words or phrases, either. Especially if…if I'm going to be here a while."

Neither girl had answered that, but Hermione didn't think they knew anyway. They had agreed to teach her a little Welsh, though. In fact, the book she'd fallen asleep reading had been full of basic phrases that she was trying to memorise. She could now say 'good morning' ( _bore da_ ) and introduce herself _(Hermione ydw i_ ) but that was about all she was confident in.

She rather thought she was doing a better job of talking to the sheep.

Though the girls had been right. Hermione _did_ look very pale and was missing Harry desperately. Missing didn't even cover it, really. She felt like she was constantly bleeding but couldn't find the exit wound to repair it. The shock of separation had taken her instantly beyond tears, for if she was able to cry, that meant she was still corporeal, and could heal from the agony by simply whimpering long enough.

But this was a pain that went far beyond Hermione's body. It went deep into her soul and the grief of parting was beyond any vocabulary Hermione possessed to describe it.

It was the not knowing that made things so much worse. Where was Harry? What was he doing? Had he been punished for helping her escape? Hermione forced herself to think that Dumbledore, or at least McGonagall, would be doing something to look after him. Or, if not them, then certainly Neville. But how good a carer would any of them be? How were they supposed to know the myriad of things that Harry needed, that it had taken Hermione all Summer to finally find out?

They couldn't. Harry needed Hermione…and _her_ alone. His care was _her_ domain now.

And her heart ached that she couldn't be there with him. But her new acceptance of emotion had in no way diluted her logical, rational self. They had no choice…she _had_ to go. It would have been death to stay, Lady Roth had been bluntly clear about on the train. And Harry had found a way to make this most disgusting, difficult decision for them both. She greatly admired his courage for that, even though she'd been so heart-shocked at the wrench of their parting.

But she had to steel herself, as she was certain Harry would be doing. He wouldn't be sat idle and wallowing. He'd be active, hunting down more of the echoes from his past that would inevitably lead him to find his mother's lost Cell, and whatever answers were promised him there. And Hermione had her own part to play, too, even though she couldn't imagine what that might be. This mysterious power, this role she had to fulfil, was yet to be revealed to her.

And Hermione was never the sort to dawdle. If she wanted to learn, she'd have to demand the teaching from others.

So she got up, hopping down from her high bunk and dressing in the silver light of the early morning. She had her own little shower and sink, where she could brush her teeth and run a comb fruitlessly through her hair. Once that palava had been attended so, Hermione folded away the nightgown she'd been provided, made her bed, and slipped out into the freshness of the country air.

The Coven was based in a vast, palatial estate. A huge manor house loomed in the distance, but Hermione hadn't been taken there yet. Instead, she had been allowed to settle in one of the dozens of large wooden chalets which lined the Northern most perimeter. She had briefly met her neighbours, a young couple with a new baby to the right of her, a solitary witch to the left, who kept very much to herself as she wrote reams of Druidic poetry.

Down the track from the row of chalets was the field where the sheep lived. Hermione made her way to the stile, resting her chin on her folded arms atop the rickety fence, as she looked out across the rugged beauty of the Welsh Valleys beyond. Water shimmered somewhere in the background, outcrops of trees crowned vast hills on the horizon and green fields swept away from her in a stunning vista, all blessed by that pale morning sun, which caused the dew-kissed grass to glisten and sparkle in the quiet air.

Civilisation, and all its threats and danger, seemed a whole dimension away.

And then, as if to remind Hermione that the world was still turning, a familiar hoot broke the silence all around her. She glanced up in shock and wonder, as a beautiful snowy owl swooped down and perched on the fence alongside her. She hopped along the beam, and nipped Hermione affectionately on her outstretched hand.

" _Hedwig!"_ Hermione hushed. "What are you doing here?"

Hermione stroked Harry's familiar on her soft feathers, wide-eyed and insanely comforted by the owl's presence. She lost her mind a moment, in reverence of all things Harry. Then the scuff of footfall drew Hermione from her dreamy reverie. She looked up.

"Bore da, Hermione," said Lady Roth, mimicking Hermione's pose on the fence. "How do you like the view?"

"It's beautiful," Hermione breathed, her eyes glassy and spellbound. "Truly beautiful. Oh…and _bore da_ to you too!"

Lady Roth chuckled at that. "That's a beautiful owl…and not native to these parts."

"No, this is Hedwig, she's _Harry's_ owl," Hermione mumbled. "I don't know how she found me, maybe she followed me. She hasn't brought a message or anything."

"Perhaps she came to keep you company, or to watch over you," said Lady Roth. "Owls are fearfully intelligent, you know. You're up awfully early. I've only just come from milking the cows. I don't think my Celesca has ever even seen this time of the morning!"

"I've always been an early riser," Hermione smiled back. "But I do tend to get a bit unsettled … whenever I stay in a new place."

"Are you having trouble sleeping?"

"A little," Hermione confessed. "But that's only half to do with the upheaval."

Lady Roth looked knowingly between Hermione and Hedwig, who had crept up onto her forearm. "You're missing Harry."

It was a statement as much as it was a question.

"Immensely," Hermione replied shyly. "Is it that obvious?"

"You have very expressive eyes, I don't know if you've ever been told that," said Lady Roth kindly. "First time?"

"No, I've missed Harry before," said Hermione off-handedly.

"Actually, what I meant was…is it the first time you've been _in love_?"

Hermione shifted at that. For some reason, having an outsider vocalise it made it that much more real…and sharpened the acuteness of Hermione's misery over Harry's absence.

"Yes…it's the first time I've…been in love," Hermione replied, blushing madly.

"But you fully intend it to be the last time?"

Hermione laughed. "Am I really such an open book?"

"Don't feel bad, I'm an exceptionally perceptive witch," said Lady Roth, grinning shrewdly. "I'm pretty sure Celesca gets her Seeing talent from some dormant gene of mine. I noticed in my classes you were the very _academic_ sort. It follows that you should be as straightforward to read as the books you love so much!"

"Thanks for the heads up!" Hermione laughed. "I'll have to learn some arts…a girl needs a secret or two after all."

"But your love for Harry wont be one of them," said Lady Roth. "It's written in every line of your face, in every movement of your body. You are positively melting in love. The pain this separation is causing you must be borderline unbearable."

Hermione huffed. "That _border_ was crossed as soon as Harry went out of my sight. I never fully appreciated just how strong my love for him was…until he was beyond my reach. Now I feel like I'm suffocating without him. This whole thing was so new, like he'd given me the keys to a gorgeous house inside of me, and with each room I explored it grew more and more beautiful. Now I feel that all the lights are on, waiting for me, but the front door has been been slammed shut and locked in my face."

"You are both going to have to be very brave," Lady Roth pondered. "But you are just one couple out of many, hundreds, thousands perhaps, who will suffer greatly as the stranglehold of this regime grows tighter and tighter. I can only hope it never reaches us here."

"Where is _here_?" asked Hermione. "I know we are in Wales, but this place, this coven, what is it?"

"Have you not been formally welcomed?" asked Lady Roth. Hermione shook her head. "I shall have to speak to Enola and Celesca about their manners in that case. Well, allow me… _Croeso i Halcyon Gardens, Hermione._ Or, welcome to The Halcyon Gardens, my family estate, and home to our magical Coven.

"The Halcyon Coven is home to around eighty families. Our borders are extended by magic, and protected by the families who contribute their own power to its defence. In addition, our boundary spells are not cast in Latin, but in a Welsh dialect unique to our Coven. We aren't alone in doing this, but it provides us with a level of safety and security only breachable by an act of treachery. However, all residents commit to a Retaliation Agreement - any such act will result in their instant death. You will have to agree to something similar before you are granted full freedom to roam the Estate."

"I will readily agree," Hermione nodded vigorously. "You have provided me a safe haven, it is the least I can do. But, where can I go? What is here to explore?"

"Aside from the Manor, we have vast natural sources of magic for you to engage with and allow to infuse you," said Lady Roth. "Understand, Hermione, Hogwarts teaches magic from the pages of a book. Here, we take much more naturalistic and organic approach. There are ancient trees and woods, caves, lakes, homes for all sorts of magical creatures and powers. These are the places you will find yourself if you open up to them, that will bring out that power within you, things that a book could simply never teach."

"Then why send Celesca to Hogwarts?"

"Simple bureaucracy," Lady Roth replied. "The Ministry has no influence here, but they keep the Muggle authorities from taking too much of an interest in us. In return, we allow them to keep certain records of us. This new law, requiring all children to pass NEWT exams, was simply a brainchild of Albus Dumbledore, and the nefarious schemes he carries out. But we will get to that in good time.

"I suppose the real reason is that Celesca intends to study at Oxford or Cambridge University. They wont accept Muggle students without seriously impressive academic scripts, but they do invite a select number of high performing magical students to attend there. A swathe of NEWTs should suffice just nicely for her ambitions."

"She is very clever then?" asked Hermione, trying to keep a lid on her competitive streak.

"She has a natural acuity, for sure," said Lady Roth. "But she finds it hard being around other people, as I'm sure you can imagine. She found solace in academia, and she loves to learn. She works hard, but I often worry about her social skills. It is not healthy to be without relationships in life, in my opinion."

"I quite agree," Hermione nodded. "But I can't say I know Celesca at all. She…isn't an easy girl to approach."

"No, she doesn't invite attention, that's for certain. And you thought she had eyes for your boyfriend, when you first met," Lady Roth quirked, raising her eyebrows.

Hermione blushed. "Maybe a little. Did she?"

"Maybe…a little," Lady Roth returned deftly. Then, when Hermione began to scowl, she laughed, "but she quickly dropped any interest she may have had in Harry romantically. She took one sweep of his mind, saw how feral he became where _you_ were concerned, saw how you were in many ways _worse_ regarding _him,_ and decided that it was healthier and safer for her to leave you both to each other!"

"That was wise of her!" Hermione laughed. "Oh dear, I was rather unfriendly to her at the start. I will have to apologise."

"I'm sure she understands," said Lady Roth. "In any case, she is at pains to cultivate a relationship with you. Her girlfriend, Luna, speaks very highly of you."

Hermione turned her eyes away reticently, guilt swimming through her. "She does?"

"Oh yes, she was quite gushing about you, when Celesca brought her to me for the _big announcement_ about their relationship," said Lady Roth.

Hermione felt yet more ashamed. She'd never been as nice to Luna as she could have been, as she was owed. And she felt awful for Lady Roth's admission. But she was given an easy out from her self-reproach.

"How did you take that, if I can ask?"

"I was surprised, to own the truth," said Lady Roth. "But Celesca has never been a conventional daughter. The surprise lasted all of three minutes, however, when I saw something my daughter doesn't often do…she _smiled_. I was sold on the relationship as soon as I saw that. I just hope she bears the separation now."

Hermione hadn't thought of that. She'd been so self-obsessed with her own grief to spare a thought for anyone else. She felt terrible for it now.

"Oh, I…I hadn't considered that," said Hermione. "I imagine Celesca doesn't let people close easily. How she must be suffering! Poor thing. Poor Luna, too! She spends so much of her time isolated…I bet she was loving having such intimate company for a change. You know what?… I'm really going to _hurt_ Tom Riddle and his Grey Robes and Death Eaters. I don't know what it is that Celesca is going to teach me, but when I can do it, I'm _totally_ going to play with my food before I eat it. They are owed that much."

Lady Roth's eyes glistened with fervour. "Then I think you are ready to begin." She offered Hermione her arm, and Hedwig soared off in the direction of the chalets. "Come, I think it is time I gave you a tour of the house. And to introduce you to my husband. I know he is keen to make your acquaintance."

"He is? Why?"

"Well, there are many reasons," Lady Roth replied. "But the main one is that your parents are currently living safely in his old house. You see, my husband once went by a different, more provocative name … a name dragged through the public eye by his famous brother … a man I think you knew a little … a man by the name of Sirius Black…"

* * *

"Get off me! Get _off_ me!"

Harry screamed and yelled and wrenched clear of Dumbledore's grip as they entered his office. He pulled angrily on his robe as Dumbledore strode in front of his desk. They faced off to each other, neither man backing down. Dumbledore was no less enraged that he had been in the Great Hall, and Harry was starting to feel that dynamo of power kick into life within him.

It was a stand off that all the old Portraits around the room were fixated on intensely - Harry Potter versus Albus Dumbledore. And none of them knew how this was going to go.

And it was Harry broke the pungent silence first. "Don't touch me again! You keep your filthy hands off me, you understand?!"

"Harry - calm yourself! Or I will take action."

"You will do _nothing_!" Harry raged, his bubbling fury rising to skin-level. "You make any sort of move against me and I will slam you into that brick wall!"

"Harry…I am older, cleverer, and a much more powerful wizard," Dumbledore returned firmly. "And I will not tolerate your violence or threats."

Harry took an aggressive step forward. "You _are_ older, but you are _not_ cleverer, and what power do you have that I don't? Have you beaten Voldemort? No. Can _I?_ Apparently so. I'm not afraid of that snake-fiddler…and I'm certainly not afraid of a frail old conjurer like _you_!"

Harry drew his wand. Dumbledore, without pretence, drew his in response. For several, electrically-charged moments, they simply stared at each other, breathing heavily, wands pulsing and throbbing with magic in readiness to strike, neither giving anything away as the tension crackled between them. Then Harry raised his wand.

But he pointed it at _himself_.

Dumbledore eyed him warily for a second, but his expression turned to something quite different as Harry suddenly began pulling magic from the mist drifting on his flesh. He twirled his wand like the baton of an orchestra conductor, then placed it directly over his heart. Somehow, innately, Harry knew exactly how to do what he was doing. Not that he could have explained it if asked.

"You, Albus Dumbledore, will _not_ cast magic at me again," Harry whispered, the spell falling on his chest. "I ward myself against you. I use my own power, which Prophecy deems strong enough to defeat Dark Lords, to render your magic inert if it touches me. I charge it with the love within me, for and from Hermione Granger, who you, Albus Dumbledore, will similarly never touch. The witch who causes you the greatest fear…you will never harm either of us so long as blood pumps in my veins."

The spell settled with a brilliant flash of gold. Dumbledore was blinded a moment, and when the air cleared he looked like Harry had slapped him in the face. Harry, for his part, felt all the stirring external magic drain his energy as it got spent up in casting the ward. He stumbled as his knees buckled beneath him, gripping onto the back of a seat to stay upright. Dumbledore moved on instinct to help him.

But Harry was having none of it.

"Get away from me! Are you _deaf?!_ " Harry spat. "Don't _touch_ me!"

"Harry … " Dumbledore tried again. His voice sounded genuinely hurt. Harry tried to throw off the pang of guilt at the sound.

"Whatever excuse you are thinking of for what you've done, save it," Harry scythed acidically. "And whatever punishment you have in mind for my giving Malfoy what he was due, you can just stick that up your arse, too!"

"Harry, I want only to talk to you…to explain," Dumbledore went on. He sounded pathetic…like he was _pleading_. The tone made Harry check his anger a moment. "I know you are aware of what passed between myself and Tom Riddle…and I know the things you have been discussing with Miss…with _Hermione_."

And with her name passing Dumbledore's lips, Harry's rage flew back to him. He stood upright, pure anger empowering him, and he launched at the Headmaster.

"Don't you _dare_ say her name!" Harry hissed lowly. He hadn't noticed, but his wand had snapped to attention, and found a nook in Dumbledore's ancient throat. "If you even _think_ of besmirching the purity of her name - just by _uttering the word_ \- I will cut you down where you stand!"

"I know, Harry…I know you will," Dumbledore plead. He sounded as he was…a frightened, outmatched, _old_ man. "So I beg permission from you to use it. So that I may explain everything. Please, Harry."

Harry, in his blind ire, hadn't noticed that Dumbledore had fallen to one knee. He looked spent, beaten, afraid of the rolling torrent that was Harry's protective wrath where Hermione was concerned. The very act of looking down drew Harry's attention to it, causing him to blink a little bit of sense back into his frenzied mind. And then, he heard Hermione's voice in his head.

_Let him speak…if he lies, you can still punish him. He is at your mercy. But let him speak._

The sound calmed Harry like a sedative. He felt Hermione's power soar through his body, the mere memory of her igniting compassion and rationality in his mind. He noticed his wand, heaving with such malicious magic that it had drawn a speck of blood to Dumbledore's wrinkled skin. Harry's nerves were set ablaze with a near overpowering sense of guilt…it was equivalent to waking up from a sleepwalk to find yourself kicking seven shades of shite out of a decrepit pensioner just to take a handful of loose change that his grandchildren had given him..

And Harry leapt back, his heart full of sorrow, but his mind holding his anger at the ready, just in case. He looked down at the Headmaster, powerless at his feet.

"You'll answer any question I have," Harry shot. "You will not dare lie to me."

"I will not," Dumbledore confirmed. "I give you my word."

"Your word means _nothing_ to me," Harry retorted. "It will take a hell of a lot to even begin to repair _that_ bridge. And let's not play dumb with each other. You're right - I do know what you said to Riddle, the deal you made with him. And I know the veiled threat you made against the girl I'm in love with. You should know, I'd sooner _kill_ you than give you even a tiny chance to carry that out!"

Dumbledore was going to say something, but then he seemed to be struck by another thought.

"Love….you _love_ Herm… _Miss Granger?"_

Harry huffed. "Of course I love her. I'm _in_ love with her. I love her more than anything. And you were right about one thing…it's the most wonderful and terrible force in existence. I will burn this world to the ground if it means protecting her. Everyone else be damned, you included. Do you hear me?"

Dumbledore got back to his feet, his eyes twinkling again. "I do understand, Harry. And if I attempt to get in the way of that, I will step into the flame myself. This is _just_ the sort of news I've been hoping for."

Harry faltered a moment. "What are you on about? I thought you wanted to _hurt_ Hermione? Now you're happy that I'm in love with her?"

"Hurt her? Oh no, you are quite mistaken, my dear boy," said Dumbledore recovering his joviality.

"But…I thought you said…"

"You overheard a conversation," said Dumbledore. "One in which both myself and Ton Riddle were dancing around each other, trying to eek out information that might give us an advantage. We both betrayed a wariness of Miss Granger that is totally warranted. She is a fearsome witch in her own right, and where the thorny issue of your defence comes up, she bears the teeth of a dangerous lioness. Both Tom and I are old and gnarled…we'd be foolish indeed to not recognise the threat Hermione could pose to _any_ wizard, who positioned himself as a possible threat to you, Harry."

Harry breathed hard at that. "Then you don't deny it? You are plotting against me?"

"I am not plotting against you," Dumbledore returned. "Do I need to use you? Yes. Do I have my own selfish, personal reasons for that? I do. Could Tom Riddle possibly use that to his advantage? Also yes. But would it also allow us to kill him once and for all, without hunting for the pieces of his fractured soul…most definitely _yes_. Does that make it worth the risk…well, I leave that as a question for you to ponder."

Harry was totally thrown. He tried to make quick sense of what Dumbledore was saying, but it wasn't easy.

"Can you explain that more simply?" Harry asked politely. "I, er, don't have Hermione here to do her quick deductions. My brain doesn't work as fast as hers does."

Dumbledore smiled benignly. "I have made mistakes in my past, Harry…terrible, unforgivable mistakes. And I have spent my life trying to put them right."

"Like leaving me to the abuse of the Dursleys?" Harry spat.

"Like casting an enchantment that exposed you to that, yes," Dumbledore admitted bitterly. "But other things too. Things I tried to encourage a young Tom Riddle to explore, on the chance that a youthful eye might think of something I had not. Things that would eventually lead me to try and coerce your mother into helping me, when she made strides forward in a _different_ approach to my problem. An approach that would, in due course, _save your life_."

Harry swallowed hard. "Save my life?"

Dumbledore fixed him with a piercing stare. "Indeed. There was more going on during that fateful Halloween night, when Tom Riddle paid a visit to Godric's Hollow. When he made the foolish decision to pit Horcruxes against Alchemy…and lost. When the skill of a Master alchemist bested all his ambitions of Dark Lordship."

"I…I don't understand," Harry breathed. His heart was racing in his chest. "I thought my mother died to save me?"

"Oh, she did," said Dumbledore. "But she wasn't about to leave you to your fate. The act of murder can create a Horcrux, Harry…but loving sacrifice is eminently more powerful, so can do the same job, albeit for a different purpose. You mother took Tom's curse to save you…then used the vessel he'd prepared for his Horcrux so she could continue to protect you."

"What vessel?"

"It was a very special shroud…one, I believe, you are now wearing around your shoulders…a garment containing a fragment of Lily Potter's soul…one that just can't stop talking to my own, embedded in Fawkes over there, through the fires of Hogwarts…"


	19. Brompton Road

* * *

The Headmaster's office seemed to be pumping with expectant tension, the silence heavy and thick on the air. The old Headmasters looked down at the room, listening loud, ready to offer their thoughts on proceedings should Dumbledore seek their counsel. But the oldest and wisest of their number, the living incumbent of this hallowed office, had done things none of them had ever conceived in their own lifetimes, so opinions and judgements were as equally unwelcome as they were insufferable.

Harry sat with, what he considered, extraordinary patience. He didn't rush Dumbledore, even when the old Professor seemed to take an age to move to the seat behind his desk. He didn't pressure him to start this confession straight away, didn't badger him to divulge details, despite how restlessly anxious Harry was to hear them.

For he knew this revelation would be worth waiting for.

Dumbledore leant back in his seat, took off his glasses in a slow, methodical fashion, and cleaned them on his robe sleeve. Harry could see the old man debating where to begin, in which order he should relay the events. He moved his lips in a hint of commencement, only to stop and think again. In the end, Harry decided to take matters into his own hands.

"Let's start with the truth," he said. "You _have_ split your soul?"

Dumbledore looked up, his eyes full of meaning and emotion. Harry fingered his wand, which he had kept in his lap, mindful that this confession was being given under duress. Despite the placing of his anti-Dumbledore ward, Harry was still wary, lest he'd done the whole thing wrong. Dumbledore might want to remove this secret from Harry's mind once he'd confessed it, and Harry thought it best to stay on guard just in case the old wizard tried anything.

But Dumbledore didn't seem to have the will for a fight. He simply blew out a long, tired breath. "Yes, Harry, I have."

Harry knew the confession was coming, but Dumbledore's stark admission still stunned him. He took a moment to master his flash of shock. "And did you mean to? Did you do it on purpose?"

"I did," Dumbledore nodded in confirmation. "I went into the ritual with open eyes, fully aware of what I was doing and excited to see and experience the results."

" _Excited?"_ Harry breathed in horror, his stomach churning in disgust. "How could you be _excited_ about a thing like that?"

"I was an arrogant, foolish young wizard," Dumbledore replied. "And I was powerful. I was drunk on that power. I wanted to see how far I could push it, mindless of the consequences or any moral cost."

"But why?"

"Obsession can do wild things to a person, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Once I'd theorised the possibility of splitting my soul, and once my friend Gellert Grindelwald had come up with a practical approach to achieve it, I could think of little else. My moral compass shattered, Harry. I am not proud of it."

"I should hope not," Harry frowned, shaking his head. "So, you _meant_ to split your soul? Meant to put it into a goat?"

Dumbledore offered a sad, benign sort of smile. "You know, it is still quite bizarre to hear Miss Granger's mind speak through your body, Harry. Heart-warming, but still a little jarring. That was her conclusion, no?"

"Would you believe me if I said we came to it together?" Harry proffered.

Dumbledore chuckled. "You do many great things together, you will likely do more still, but she is clearly the brains between you. Do not let that dishearten you, for you are the _heart_ , your powerful emotion the perfect foil to her brilliant mind. I am a foolish old man for not seeing that, for not appreciating the _potential_ of it, before now."

That piqued Harry's attention, but he parked a dozen new questions he could have asked, determined not to be side-tracked.

"Okay, it was _mostly_ Hermione's idea," Harry went on. "But are you saying we got that wrong?"

"I am," said Dumbledore. "You see, Miss Granger correctly assumed that I intended to use a goat as the ritual sacrifice for my Horcrux, but I could not have placed my soul fragment into the corpse of a dead animal."

Harry considered that, saw the obvious logic of it, and was thrown a bit that Hermione had been wrong. That was an entirely alien sensation. Harry pondered that a moment, wondering where _she_ would have gone next to rectify her mistaken deduction. If a goat was the sacrifice, and not the _vessel_ , it must mean that something _else_ was involved.

"So…you had prepared _another_ object to be the Horcrux?" Harry asked. Then realisation hit. "Fawkes! You meant to use Fawkes to house your soul?"

"Alas, no," said Dumbledore. "Remember, Harry, Gellert and I were at the very beginnings of developing this branch of magic. But, even then, we saw that using a living creature would come with risks as great as the possible benefits."

"Like what?"

"Consider, Harry, we were looking to perpetuate our magic, expand it through immortality. Through _mastering_ Death itself. But equally, we knew our separated soul fragments would be vulnerable, and would need to be housed in vessels that would protect them.

"And everything was experimental, unknown. For all we knew, any living creature we used might be killed by the procedure, perhaps destroying our soul fragment in the process. If nothing else, the Horcrux would be useless and the ritual a waste of time.

"So we decided to use inanimate objects. Don't forget, Harry, we wanted to be able to _re-attach_ our split souls if we needed to, even though we were too blind to have looked that far ahead. If I had used Fawkes, he could have rebelled against me and flown away, taking my soul fragment with him. We had speculated that if we _had_ used a living creature we might be able to wield a level of control over the beast, but again that was mere theory."

"So, what did you use?" asked Harry. "Or _intend_ to use?"

"You'll laugh at my naivety, but I had decided to use my personal ten-pin bowling ball!" Dumbledore chuckled. "It was a sound theory. Once my soul fragment was safely inside, I intended to turn it into a Portkey, keyed to my location, so that if it fell into the wrong hands the attempted thief would be transported right to my feet."

"Or to the point of your wand," Harry quirked, nodding.

"That was the intention," Dumbledore confirmed. "I could think of no safer protection."

Harry conceded that. But then the reality struck him. "But your soul _isn't_ in your bowling ball, is it? You said it lives on it Fawkes."

"And so it does," said Dumbledore, scratching the phoenix beneath his chin.

"So…it didn't go as you'd planned. Something went wrong? Hermione got that bit right, didn't she?"

Dumbledore sighed, a breath heavy and weighted. "Yes. And that is putting it mildly. Not to put to too fine a point on it, the _worst thing to ever happen in my life_ occurred that night. In the intervening years I have come to think of it as the universe punishing me…for attempting something so perverse, as I was. Nature's retribution upon me was as callous as it was warranted."

"You killed your sister?" Harry asked carefully. "We heard you, when you had that sort of _seizure_. You cried out her name."

"Yes…Minerva was good enough to show me her memory of the event," Dumbledore replied sadly.

"How did it happen?"

"My brother, Aberforth, was always suspicious of Gellert," Dumbledore began. "He never trusted him, not after he suspected him of cheating to beat me in the Triwizard Tournament."

Harry stared open-mouthed at Dumbledore. " _You_ competed in the Triwizard?"

"Oh yes," Dumbledore recalled fondly. "I was so excited to be picked as the Hogwarts Champion, to pit my magical skills against the best Europe had to offer. Gellert was the Durmstrang Champion, and a talented girl named Amelie Flamel was chosen to represent Beauxbatons."

"Flamel?" Harry repeated. "Not _Nicolas'_ daughter?"

"Oh, Merlin no," said Dumbledore. "Nicolas and Perenelle were over five hundred years old by the time Amelie competed in the Tournament. She was descended from them, but by many generations. It was a very evenly-matched contest. And I enjoyed it immensely."

"But Grindelwald won?"

"He did, but there were significant rumours that he'd coerced a number of the young ladies of Beauxbatons to assist him in the tasks," said Dumbledore, remembering fondly. "Gellert was quite the ladies' man, never short of admirers. The rumours were never confirmed, but Aberforth was suspicious of him from then on. But I rather suspect that it was more down to the fact that Gellert asked to the Yule Ball a young witch that Aber, himself, had his eye on, and intended to ask to be his date. He never forgave Gellert for the slight against him."

"But _you two_ became friends?" Harry pushed.

"Very good friends, actually," Dumbledore confirmed. "We were kindred spirits, drawn together by our mutual magical superiority over our peers. Not too dissimilar to how yourself and Miss Granger came to gravitate towards one another. Magic has a way of recognising itself, and acting as a magnet between those who carry Her gifts in significant intensity."

"But … Hermione and I are _lovers,"_ Harry ventured. "You and Grindelwald … _weren't_ … were you?"

"Oh, no," said Dumbledore. "I think there was some interest from Gellert's side - he did go to a _wizard-only_ Academy, after all - but I was raised in a very strict and classical household. My parents taught me from an early age that _any_ sort of penetration was a matter of the deepest dishonour. That's why I keep the Sword of Gryffindor in that case on the wall behind me…and why a relationship with Gellert was a non-starter. In any case, I've always preferred brunettes. Plus, he was an Aries..and me and an Aries? Forget it. It would never have worked between us."

"Okay," Harry replied, deeply awkward. Thinking of Dumbledore as _sexual_ was as warped a concept as thinking of the _Sorting Hat_ as having carnal fantasises. Harry shuddered the weirdness off. "So…your Horcrux mistake. You were saying."

"I was," Dumbledore nodded. "Well, Gellert and I spent a whole Summer together. We were practically inseparable, testing each other's magical limits, theorising about things that others of our age couldn't even daydream about, let alone propose as possible. I was beyond inspired…I was _addicted_.

"It was a heady time, and I have come to believe that it caused us to have a little break with reality. Our discussions were positively _dripping_ in insanity. One of the things we began discussing was immortality. That should give you an idea of just how disconnected with the real world we had become, intoxicated by each other as we were."

"But why?"

"For the simple reason that these things _hadn't_ _been done before,"_ said Dumbledore. "The idea of making the impossible _possible,_ fascinated us. I told you years ago that the greatest limitation of magic is that it cannot bring back the dead. Gellert and I challenged that notion, asked why not, discussed ways that it _could_ , if the magical force was strong enough. But it was fraught with problems, so we moved on to tackling the prospect of not dying in the first place, negating the need for resurrection magic. Those discussions led to the idea of somehow binding the soul to the mortal realm."

"And the idea of Horcruxes was born out of that," Harry nodded in understanding.

"Precisely," Dumbledore confirmed. "Soul magic was nothing new. Reincarnation, alchemical marriage, astral travelling…all use soul magic of a fashion. But all required _whole_ souls to be used…nobody had ever considered the possibilities of _splitting_ one."

"But you and Grindelwald did?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Gellert had already thought extensively about it. He managed Animagus transformation at aged fourteen, and meditated on the advantages of splitting his Animagus self from his wizard side. He realised that wouldn't be possible, as the _physical_ body also changes during the Animagus process. But the idea of having more than one version of himself stuck.

"So he reckoned that if he couldn't split his _body_ , maybe his soul could be separated somehow. I was drunk on his ideas, swept up by his convincing rhetoric. Gellert was a master orator. When people heard him speak, they were instantly under his spell. He had a way of captivating you. He could have made you believe the sky was green and made of popcorn if he thought it was worth his while. And it is a universal truth that if someone can make you believe absurdities, they can make you commit atrocities."

Harry shivered at the cool darkness in Dumbledore's words. "And you were convinced to split your soul?"

"I was," Dumbledore sighed ruefully. "I believed that immortality was the only way to give me enough time to deliver progress to the magical world. And by _progress_ I meant _slavery_ , with Gellert and I cracking the whips. _The Greater Good_ , we dubbed it…and the moniker became a by-word for wizarding fascism in later years. I was so ashamed, but I was hypnotised and I couldn't see the error of my ways.

"We started small. Extracting souls from one animal and planting it into another. We used rats and mice, other vermin. Gellert preferred to use common grass snakes, then attempted to stir their defensive tendencies, to see if he could control them with his Parseltongue skills. But nothing worked with our _own_ splitting. I knew then, the only thing that would _really_ work was…was…"

"Murder," Harry completed for him.

Dumbledore closed his eyes in shame. "Yes. Calculated, cold-blooded murder. Nothing less. Gellert still wanted to see through animal sacrifice to its natural conclusion, which we both knew would be failure. So we decided to try one last time, with my family goat.

"Aberforth snapped at that. The goat was a family asset, we milked it, then churned butter and made cheese. Aber was very fond of the animal. He wasn't prepared to stand by and just let us butcher it in the name of one of our Dark experiments.

"So, we three, had a very heated confrontation. I convinced my brother that we would drop the experiment, but Gellert changed my mind that very same night. It was a full-moon, we needed the lunar power. So we began the ritual, but Aber burst in on us and he and Gellert rowed terribly. Then they began to fight. Ariana came in and tried to play peacemaker…and Gellert drew his wand on her…"

Dumbledore covered his eyes, the pain of the memory causing his wrinkled fingers to vibrate. Harry watched, and felt a surge of guilt, as though he were intruding on something deeply personal. Which, of course, he was. He turned his eyes down out of respect, until Dumbledore started speaking again.

"I didn't mean to kill her, I really didn't. But I deflected a spell from Gellert, and it hit Ariana square in the chest. I don't know if it was the ritual, or my own heart breaking at what I'd done, but my soul spilt right there. Gellert fled and I was mindless in my grief.

"But Aber pulled me to sense. I was young and stupid, I still thought I could save my sister. So I forced her soul into the goat before she _crossed over_ , then Fawkes swooped in and quite literally _swallowed_ my disembodied soul fragment, turning himself into a Horcrux."

"He did it by _choice_!" Harry breathed. "But why?"

"Funnily enough, he's never told me," Dumbledore replied lightly. "But I'm sure he had very good reasons."

"So…you split your soul," said Harry. "Then what?"

"Then, I realised half of me had died with Ariana," said Dumbledore. "The _good half_ of me. I fled to find Gellert, and to escape my brother's violent fury, seeking the only solace I could. I felt so alone, so broken….I've never quite found the words to accurately describe the sensation. The newness of the magic made me feel so isolated from the entire world. I didn't even question it when Gellert asked me to help him create his own Horcrux a few years later, once we had _perfected_ the ritual. But that was the time when my eyes truly opened, to the horrendous nature of what we were doing."

"What was the tipping point?" asked Harry, morbidly curious.

"Gellert sacrificed his own mother," Dumbledore replied blankly. "Put his soul fragment into a new wand he'd recently acquired. He didn't want to tell me where he'd gotten it. So I became suspicious. We didn't have secrets between us, but he was unusually defensive about this. We had a blazing row…and I left.

"The next time I saw Gellert he, and that wand, were surrendering to me after we defeated his Dark ambitions in Europe. I swore never to become seduced by that Darkness again, and the only way I could see how was to repair my broken soul. I've been searching for a solution ever since."

"So you encouraged Tom Riddle to follow in your footsteps?" Harry queried. "Why? You must have been able to see what he was?"

"I did, even from a young age," Dumbledore agreed. "But he was a brilliant young wizard…and I was blind and desperate. I thought that I could exert some level of control over Tom, through poor old Horace Slughorn. But Tom proved that there was no rein strong enough to hold him in. But, by that time, it was already too late to stop."

"Because he'd created his first Horcrux already," said Harry sagely. "Was it the ring or the diary?"

"The diary," Dumbledore replied. "He did it here, at Hogwarts…when he opened the Chamber of Secrets and killed Myrtle with his basilisk."

"Oh…wow," Harry gasped. "He did it _then?_ He always was an evil bastard then?"

"Language, Harry," Dumbledore admonished gently. "Minerva has been telling me that your vocabulary lately has come direct from the sewer. But I still don't approve of hearing it."

"It's the way of the world right now," Harry replied off-handedly. "So, you tried to see if Riddle could develop a sort of _reverse Horcrux_ ritual, I suppose. But, as he's an evil prick, that was never on the cards. Well, not until now…now that he realises how vulnerable he is in little bits."

"Precisely," said Dumbledore. "Tom has come to understand, as I did, that we are never quite as powerful _divided_ as we are _united_. He split his soul, and a part of his power went with each fragment. The part that is the Tom Riddle who visited me here recently, is a mere shadow of the wizard he was in the past. He knows it, which is why he shies away from battle with truly skilled wizards. It's his greatest secret, one he wants to nullify before it gets out."

"By bringing all his parts back together again," Harry surmised. "So…where does my mother fit into all this?"

"That is something I am still investigating," said Dumbledore. "I know that answer will frustrate you, but I do not know everything yet."

"Then tell me what you _do_ know."

"Very well. I do know that, through her mastery of alchemy, your mother was able to place part of her soul _inside_ you. That part emerged and took the Killing Curse cast at you by Voldemort. But it also did a little more than that.

"You see, when Voldemort cast the Avada Kedavra, he also _dual cast_ the Horcrux creation enchantment. But, _no death_ occurred. What happened because of that is a matter for conjecture. But here is my current working theory: the spell cast at you was taken by your mother's soul fragment and, somehow, she sent it _back_ at Voldemort. The Killing Curse killed his body, and the Horcrux spell ripped his soul _out_ , but didn't split it, because there was no body to anchor the remaining part to.

"Then, somehow, your mother's soul fragments - from in you and _her_ now dead body - reformed as one. Even more incredibly, she was able to summon her Animagus form, which was a _phoenix_ , to burn Voldemort's body to ash, then she took her place in the Shroud to complete the Horcrux creation ritual. Voldemort's soul had nowhere to go, so fled as the quasi-ghost form that remained. You know the rest."

Harry's head was swimming, trying to process the disclosure. One question came to him immediately. "So…how did my mum split her soul? Did…did she have to kill someone?"

"No, I don't think so," said Dumbledore.

Harry was pleased about that. "But, how then?"

"This, I don't know," said Dumbledore. "I knew she had developed some fascinating theories, about using the soul bonding elements inherent in alchemical wedding rites, to do what Horcrux magic sought to achieve, but without all the Dark elements. But we alchemists are secretive by nature, and she wasn't prepared to share her discoveries with anyone, not even me."

Harry nodded at that and smiled inwardly. His mother had seen through Dumbledore too. Harry was insanely proud to be Lily Potter's son just then, feeling more like his mother than he ever had before.

"But you're convinced she knew how to put a spilt soul back together?" Harry went on.

"Not convinced, no, but reasonably confident," said Dumbledore. "Which is the most promising state I can hope for."

"And it has something to do with alchemy?" asked Harry.

Dumbledore nodded. "Alchemical weddings create a _fusion_ of two souls in the bonding ceremony. This concept of _soul cohesion_ formed the basis of Lily's research, but the details were never disclosed. I believe the answers lie in your mother's private alchemy cell, which is somewhere here at Hogwarts. Her personal affects and papers are still there…she never had a chance to recover them before…before Voldemort paid that fateful visit to her at Godric's Hollow."

Harry gulped hard at that, his heart rampaging in his chest. "How do you know that was what she was researching?"

"Your father told me," Dumbledore explained. "When he heard about the deep intimacy that an alchemical bond can form, he wanted to _re-marry_ Lily, as it were, in an alchemical ceremony. They both thought that, if they could perfect the ritual, it would not only draw them closer than either could rightly conceptualise, but also be an incredible a gift to…to give to any children they had, should _they_ find a partner they loved enough to marry."

Harry shivered pleasantly at that, mindful of the inference in Dumbledore's tone. He was clever enough to interpret the Headmaster's meaning, wondering if these echoes of Lily were somehow linked to the recent romantic changes in Harry's own life. The idea swam gorgeously in his lovesick mind.

"Your mother was single-minded on this, so committed her time to studying the requirements for the marriage ceremony," Dumbledore continued. "I know she made great progress, but she never got around to using her Cell for a wedding venue, before she sealed it away."

"But you think I can find it?"

"Lily locked it with personal magic," said Dumbledore. "I never knew what it was. Like I said, to be an alchemist is to have secrets. But you are the best, direct link to her. If anyone can find the keys to Lily's Cell, her son must have as good a chance as anyone."

"But how will I know where to look?" asked Harry.

Dumbledore smiled. It was a touch of the old energy in his eyes just now. "I would suggest keeping that marvellous new cloak of yours nice and close. When your mother is ready, I believe she will let you know."

"This Shroud," Harry asked, stroking the cloak around his neck. "What _was_ it? You said Voldemort was going to turn it into a Horcrux, so it must have had some significance?"

"Yes, it did," Dumbledore confirmed. "Tom Riddle liked to collect trophies, you see. Despite how he hated his own parents - his father was a Muggle, you know - he was proud of being Salazar Slytherin's heir. That led to an obsession with the Hogwarts founders. The school was the only place Tom ever really considered to be _home_ , so he felt an affinity with the place and its history."

Harry shuddered at that, noticing the similarities between not just himself, but also _Hermione_ , who was equally as fascinated with the origins of Hogwarts. He pushed a raft of new questions about that aside for now.

"So, the Shroud was a trophy?" Harry asked.

"I believe so," said Dumbledore. "It is faded, but I believe that was once the Battle Standard of Godric Gryffindor, the one that used to flutter happily in the breeze above his castle."

"And Voldemort wanted to use it as a Horcrux?"

"Yes. It was an artefact associated directly with one of the Hogwarts founders, just like the diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw that I recently liberated from the Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom. Part of my attempts to unearth other Horcruxes has focused on locating objects similarly linked to Slytherin and Hufflepuff, but my investigations have yet to highlight likely candidates for those vessels."

Harry was hit with a scary thought just then. "Headmaster…my alchemy Professor, Miss Abraham, said that because I once touched a Philosopher's Stone, I might have some lingering residual effect in me. Would…wouldn't that happen if I'd been in contact with a Horcrux all this time, too?"

Dumbledore smiled. "A deduction Hermione Granger would be proud of."

Now Harry smiled. In his mind, there was no higher validation in the land. "So, I _could_ be affected by it? By prolonged exposure?"

"I believe you already _have been_ , Harry," said Dumbledore. "That garment became your birthing shroud…I wrapped you in it when I placed you with your Aunt and Uncle. It is very likely they used it to line your cot. I know they used to use it as a blanket when you were in your pushchair, because Arabella Figg recovered it when you threw it off yourself one day, accidentally sending it into a puddle and under the wheels of the Number Seven bus, which unfortunately happened to be passing at the time.

"So, as a toddler, the Shroud was in contact with your skin for a long, long time…passing your mother's protection into your very flesh…"

"Oh…" said Harry, swallowing hard at the implication. "Quirrell?"

"Quirrell," Dumbledore repeated with a confirming nod. "Your mother was able to protect you then…just as she was able to make sure a discarded blanket stayed in the street, to call to Arabella when you threw it away so casually."

"And, I suppose, my Aunt wouldn't have wanted to pick it up and have something so dirty in the house," Harry mused bitterly.

"Exactly," said Dumbledore. "Arabella passed it onto me. I never knew how she was aware of its significance, but I am inclined to believe your mother was able to wield a level of influence over Arabella and her Squib nature. Lucky, too, for through her the Shroud ended up safely in your vault at Gringotts."

"How?"

"A story for another day, Harry, as well as an explanation for why I was so keen to gain access to your family vault," said Dumbledore evasively. "I ask you to let it go for now, Harry, we have greater issues before us at present."

"Okay. But there must be something else I can do about _those_ ," said Harry. "I'm not going to stand by and let this world be a threat to Hermione. But the fight isn't here now, is it? The school is lost."

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "I believe you are right, Harry."

"And you just gave it away!" Harry bitched. "Don't think I've forgotten about that, because I haven't."

"I did what I could, to save lives," said Dumbledore simply.

"And did you?" Harry cried, his anger shimmering again. "Did you save Hannah Abbott and Terry Boot and all the others who have vanished from the school?"

"I believe I did. They are safe."

That caught Harry off guard. "They are? Where?"

Dumbledore looked at him pointedly. "You can't expect me to tell _you_ , who has an open connection to the mind of Lord Voldemort, something like that?"

Harry felt like Dumbledore had bitch-slapped him. He wanted to argue, rage that he wasn't about to give secrets away. But, the truth was, he had never mastered Occlumency. Voldemort could still, in theory, penetrate his mind. It made Harry sick and guilty. He was a liability. No wonder Dumbledore didn't trust him. For the first time since his outburst, Harry felt his own weaknesses laid out before him.

"Okay. That's fair, I suppose," Harry mumbled bashfully. "But they are safe?"

"As safe as can be hoped, for now," said Dumbledore. "Along with all the others we could help."

"We? Who's _we_?"

Dumbledore fixed Harry with a deep stare. "I will tell you, if you consent to going undercover."

Harry felt the excitement of adventure stir in his chest. "I'm open for that. What do I need to do?"

"May I use your cloak?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry nodded, so the Headmaster moved to him and unfastened the garment from around Harry's shoulders. Then he began slowly, methodically wrapping the cloak around Harry's head. The cloak snaked around his face like a balaclava or a turban, until only Harry's eyes were poking out and there was a little slit near his mouth. Then Dumbledore tapped Harry's glasses with his wand, turning the regular round-rimmed spectacles into cool, aviator-style sunglasses.

"What's this for?" asked Harry, his voice muffled.

"If I am right, your mother will come to our aid, and block your mind from any outside intrusion," Dumbledore explained. "I have wanted to test this use of your Shroud for the longest time. Now seems as good a day as any. The rest covers your face and your identity. With all due respect, Harry, you are simply too recognisable to be an effective stealth agent."

Harry huffed at that, riling against the damnable misery of the truth. "Fine. But where are we going?"

"London," said Dumbledore. "I have some business there that I think you can assist with. But we are going to the sort of place that can get you killed. So keep your wits sharp…and your wand-arm sharper."

* * *

Hermione sat cross-legged under a grove of oak trees, busying herself with an acorn in her hand. Hedwig was perched on a branch above her, watching her progress intently. It was growing dusky now and lights were already beginning to flicker on in some of the wooden chalets nearby. There was a hint of rain in the air, too, but Hermione wanted to get her project finished before heading indoors.

The crackling of dry leaves alerted Hermione to someone approaching. She looked up to see Enola picking her way over the rutted ground towards her.

"Care for some company?" Neville's girlfriend asked.

"Of course," Hermione grinned. "Find a spare bit of floor and make yourself at home."

So Enola did. She looked at Hermione, concentrating hard with her wand in one hand and the acorn in the other.

"Do you always poke your tongue out like that when you focus so intently?" Enola quirked, a wry smile touching her lips.

"Ever since I was a girl," Hermione replied without looking up. "I used to have terribly big front teeth and it was my habit to run my tongue over them when I was thinking. I've never really gotten out of it."

"But you have lovely teeth now," said Enola.

"Oh…thank you," Hermione returned, slightly guilty.

"What are you doing there anyway?" Enola asked, deciding not to push Hermione on the clearly delicate front-teeth issue, even though she was deeply curious.

"I…I'm making a little present, for Harry," said Hermione, colouring a little. "You know…for when I see him again."

"Ah, that's nice of you. What is it?"

"I'm using my wand to carve a smiley face into the acorn," Hermione explained, lifting it up to show Enola her progress. "When I'm all done, the cup of the acorn will make a little hat, see. I think it will be quite cute. Then, I'll run some string or a chain through the top, make it into a pendant or a wrist circlet or something, so that Harry can wear it with him wherever he goes."

Enola smiled at her. "That sounds lovely. I'm sure Harry will love it."

"What are you doing this far from the house?" asked Hermione noticing how quickly the night was rolling in now. "Will you be okay to get back?"

"Oh yeah, don't worry about me," said Enola easily. "I came on one of the Bayards - super-fast horses, you know? Bavieca will get me back in barely ten minutes at top speed."

"Okay. I suppose the next question is, _why_ are you out so late?"

Enola shifted awkwardly, picking at a nearby twig. "I heard Cesc and her mum talking earlier. They said you were told all about our situation here. Harriet thought you looked a little overwhelmed by everything."

Hermione huffed at that. "Well, it _was_ a lot to take in. And I haven't even met _Lord_ Roth yet. Give me a break."

"Hey, I'm not judging here," said Enola, patiently. "I just thought you might need someone to talk it out with, maybe ask a few questions. I love the girl, but Celesca isn't about to volunteer. And, as pretty as Harry's owl is, I'm sure she wont be much by the way of counsel, either."

Hedwig hooted indignantly from the tree above them. Hermione grinned at the snowy bird.

"I wouldn't insult Hedwig too much, if I were you. She can be a diva when she wants to be…and those talons are _sharp!"_

"I'll keep that in mind," Enola laughed back. "Look, if you want me to sod off, just say. I can understand if you want to be on your own. But, if you don't, I've been told I can talk for Wales, so I'm offering my services."

Hermione took a turn at laughing now. She looked down at her acorn-head gift. It was a bit crude, she would need to practice a lot more to give Harry a present worthy of the name. But she pocketed it just the same.

"I think I'd like some company," said Hermione. "Come on, lets go back to my chalet and I'll make us some tea."

The girls stood and left the little grove. Bavieca, the Bayard, was happily grazing on the verge, but she began to trot dutifully behind them as they made their way to the row of huts. Hermione opened the door to her temporary little house and lit the torches, which had special no-heat flames, so that the wooden chalet wouldn't suddenly catch fire around them.

Hermione brewed a pot of tea and handed a mug to Enola. "Thanks. How are you settling in here? Do you have everything you need?"

Hermione shot Enola an ' _are you serious?'_ sort of look. Enola guffawed and shook her head.

"I meant, anything _besides_ Harry Potter!"

"I know," Hermione smiled good-naturedly. "I suppose I could always use more books, but that will be the case wherever I go. No, I'm quite comfortable, thank you."

"Good," said Enola. "So, how come you were out in the grove? It's getting a bit chilly out."

"I told you, I was carving," said Hermione.

"But the light is so much better in here," said Enola, brushing off Hermione's flimsy attempt at deception.

"Okay, I was trying to get a hedge on this _natural magic_ that Harriet told me about," Hermione confessed. "She said it can take _years_ to get in touch with the energies of the world. I don't have that sort of time."

"You mean, you cant stand the idea of being away from _Harry_ for that amount of time," said Enola shrewdly. "It's okay, you can be honest with me. It's just us girls here."

"Okay, maybe that too," Hermione replied shyly. "You'll have to forgive me. I'm just not used to…well… _girl talk_."

"I did notice that, back at Hogwarts," said Enola. "You seemed to spend all of your time with just Harry. Not that there's anything to be surprised at with that. He was not only your boyfriend, but your Prefect partner too."

" _Is_ ," Hermione corrected. " _Is_ my boyfriend. Not _was_. And I think your pronunciation is off. He's my _perfect_ partner, not my _prefect_ partner!"

Enola smiled at that. "Touché. But you know what I mean. You didn't seem to have any other friends that you spent time with. I sort of got the impression it had always been that way. Just the two of you."

"It has been, and that's just how I like it," Hermione confirmed. "For the longest time there were three of us who were very close, but I infinitely preferred it being just me and Harry. I miss him so much."

"I can tell," said Enola, blowing at her tea to cool it. "So, you were trying to tap into your Forest Spirits, were you? How did that go?"

"Terribly," Hermione huffed. "I tried to do what Lady Roth said. I closed my eyes, tried to meditate, tried to quieten my mind. But that's nearly the most impossible thing to ask of me. I _am_ my mind…opening it up to outside influence is against my nature."

"Which is exactly why you need to master it," said Enola. "If it was easy, it wouldn't be worth the effort. If it was something that you could do without pushing yourself, you would have no growth. You have to move outside of your comfort zone, to become more than even you believe you can be."

Hermione looked doubtful. "I'm not sure I am capable of that."

"So does everyone when they face a challenge they cant see how to overcome," said Enola. "Don't expect instant results. This doesn't work like that. It isn't an exam, where you can memorise a textbook answer. It's a test of character. There's no right answer…there's only _your_ answer, which is why you can do this. You have the answer _within_ you already, all you have to do is look inside to find it."

"But I have no idea what that even _means,_ " Hermione moaned. "I wont be any good at this, I just know I wont. And I'll fail everyone, I'll fail _Harry._ And I just cant _stand_ the thought of that, of letting him down, and looking him in the face to tell him that I have."

Hermione took a steadying breath, her chest heaving as her fundamental concerns saw the light of day for the first time. She looked at Enola, expecting derision or an admonishing huff, the way her disappointed teachers responded to her rare failures. But she got neither. Instead, she saw _sympathy_ and understanding reflect back at her.

"You wont do any of those things," said Enola quietly, reaching over to pat Hermione's arm supportively. "You are putting ridiculous pressure on yourself. I get the feeling that this isn't new for you, either. But you aren't alone on this quest, Hermione. You have me, and Lady Roth and Celesca, and we are all committed to helping you. There's an old saying around here, ' _don't try and fly a broomstick before you've first learned to sweep with one'._ The Welsh translation is prettier, but the message is the same. Take one step at a time, and you'll get there."

Hermione took another deep gulp of tea. "So, can _you_ do all that stuff? Feel the energies of the Forest, and things?"

"Of course," said Enola breezily. "And I'm a _ditz!_ If I can do it, you definitely can. Like Harry said, you're way more powerful than me. I'll help you, we all will. But don't be so hard on yourself for not getting the hang of it right away. Don't focus on the negative. What would Harry say if he heard you speaking about yourself like that?"

Hermione's face bloomed into a broad smile as she considered her answer. "He'd tell me off for being so down on myself. He'd tell me that I was brilliant and clever and poetic, that I was the…the _brightest witch of the age_. He'd make me believe I could do _anything,_ then badger me to show _him_ how to do it!"

Enola hooted out a laugh at that. "An ideal boyfriend, then!"

"Yes. I couldn't have wished for better," Hermione grinned. "It's a little bit annoying, actually, just _how_ good a boyfriend he is. But then, it is Harry…and he has a habit of being good at things at the first time of trying. I've never told him how I envy that about him. That I have to work _twice_ as hard, just to be _half_ as good as he is naturally."

"I'm sure that's not true," said Enola. "And I'd bet my wand that Harry would agree with me. He'd just say that you don't allow the ephemeral stuff in, that you rely far more on your textbooks for certainty."

"You're probably right," Hermione agreed. "They are a sort of papery safety blanket for me. Harry would be amazing at the sort of magic you practice here. If - sorry, _when_ \- I get the hang of this, I have to teach it to him. Will you help when I do?"

"Of course, but let's just focus on getting you immersed for now," Enola replied.

"Okay," Hermione nodded. "What would you suggest I do differently?"

"For a starter, don't try and do anything alone again," said Enola, deeply serious. "The meditation takes you on a journey in a trance-like state. You need someone to be your guide, to show you the way…or to bring you back if you go too far or too fast. It can be dangerous."

"It can?"

"Absolutely. It's not unheard of for people to get lost in the meditative state. And there are some malevolent forces out there that might try to _lure_ an inexperienced adept to a place where they might lose their mind. You need to be _very_ careful."

Hermione shivered at the possibility. "Okay. No more practising alone. Got it. Anything else?"

"Try to find a single goal to focus on," Enola suggested. "There is so much power out there it can be very confusing to try and harness it. Pick a strand and concentrate your efforts there. What do you want, more than anything, that you can't do now?"

Hermione thought a moment. The answer came surprisingly easily. "Harry…I want a safe way to communicate with Harry. If traditional methods are too risky, I have to think outside of the box. But I'm going out of my mind not knowing how he is."

"Well, you don't need special magic for that," Enola scoffed. "There are other ways to at least get a message to him."

Hermione sat up taut. "How? Tell me, right now."

Enola blinked at Hermione's bluntness. "There are lots of ways. If you rule out anything that requires a link over distance, all you are really shutting off is owls and Floo communication. They can be intercepted. What you need is a _third party_ , one you can trust."

"Such as?"

"A loyal house-elf would be ideal," said Enola. "They could go back and forth relatively risk-free. Or another animal to communicate through, one not usually associated with message carrying. That wouldn't draw suspicion. And, of course, there's always Brompton Road."

"Brompton Road? What's that?"

* * *

"It's an abandoned Tube station," said Harry in wonder, reading the faded lettering of _Brompton Road_ on the platform wall, as he shook off the dizzying nausea he was fast associating with Apparition travelling. " _This_ is your new resistance network?"

Harry watched as witches in deep hoods and wizards in wide brimmed hats bustled back and forth along the platform, disappearing out of sight into a dozen doors or down shadowy, winding corridors. Harry could barely guess where they went.

"You seem surprised," Dumbledore chuckled. "It's just a name, Harry. One unfamiliar to the magical world."

"Ah, so it wouldn't arouse suspicion," said Harry. "I get it."

"Exactly," said Dumbledore. "We didn't always use this name. During the First War, the group was known as the _Diagram Club_ , as we had five secret meeting locations around Diagon Alley. When we drew them on a map, and connected them with secret transport lines, they formed a pentagram around The Alley - a _Diagon Pentagram_ if you will. The name came from there."

"So why the change?"

"A mole named Peter Pettigrew gave away our secret," Dumbledore retorted bitterly. Harry felt a vile sickness rise in his throat at the mention of that most hated of names. "So we had to find somewhere new to meet and call a base."

"Okay. But…why an old Tube station?" asked Harry. "I can sort of see the benefit of being based in Muggle London. But an abandoned Tube stop…why here?"

"Simple really," said Dumbledore. "We wanted to be able to move about without being detected. And the London Underground runs all across the Capital, both with the established lines and abandoned parts of the network. It was perfect."

"But how did you know your way around?" asked Harry. "Surely those little Tube brochures don't show that much detail."

"No, but I have an interesting scar above my knee that shows a complete map of the London Underground," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "It shows everywhere the network goes, everywhere its been, and everywhere it _could_ go. Scars can be very useful things. Perhaps one day I'll show it to you. But we are already pushed for time, so let us get a move on."

"Where are we going?" asked Harry, looking at torn posters for old movies and signs warning Londoners to _Mind The Gap._

"Back into magical London," said Dumbledore. "But first of all, we need a _train_."

"But trains don't stop here, do they?" Harry queried.

"Tube trains on the Piccadilly Line may not have stopped here for some time," Dumbledore replied, quirking an eyebrow. "But we magicals have our _own_ line on the underground network. If it was on a map, it would be coloured in gold. But we just call it _The Merlin Line._ It runs not only through London, but connects to an underground rail network which spans the entire length and breadth of Great Britain. _"_

"Really? And how often do trains run on the Merlin Line?" asked Harry, looking hopefully into the silent tunnel to his left. "The sign up there doesn't say."

"I understand you are familiar with the Knight Bus?" said Dumbledore. Harry nodded. "The Merlin Line runs on much the same schedule. Would you like to summon the train, or should I?"

Harry inclined his head, inviting Dumbledore to do the honours. The old Headmaster grinned, then held out his wand. Ten seconds later and a three-carriage tube train gunned into the station and the doors opened. It was indistinguishable from standard Tube stock, aside from the shining gold livery on the handrails and a seat moquette featuring a dragon, a unicorn and the house colours of Hogwarts.

Harry followed Dumbledore aboard the train, which moved off immediately. Then a voice came over the tannoy. "The next station is _Knightsbridge_. Change here for Harrods Department Store. This is a Merlin Line train to _Immore Alley."_

Harry raised an eyebrow at Dumbledore. "Immore Alley?"

"Yes, Harry, and that's where we are headed," Dumbledore replied, taking a seat and unfolding a copy of _The Evening Standard,_ that had been left by another commuter.

"And what are we doing there?"

"Years ago, we used to use an exclusive Gentlewizards Club for our clandestine meetings," Dumbledore replied without looking up. "It provided excellent cover. It is such a den of iniquity that even the authorities give it a wide birth. Every now and then, we still take advantage of its dicey nature."

"So, are you doing something illegal there?" asked Harry, hoping for Dumbledore to answer the affirmative.

"I am looking to purchase an object of great value," said Dumbledore. "The proprietor of the Club often comes across such ancient artefacts, and alerts me to any that he feels may interest me, as he knows I am an avid collector. He doesn't tell me how he gets them, and I don't ask. But we both know the origin of such objects. Immore Alley has many such traders, but Fletchers tends to offer the most authentic items."

"Fletchers?" asked Harry. "Not that dodgy bastard _Mundungus Fletcher_ , the guy who is in the Order of the Phoenix?"

"The same," said Dumbledore. "Mundungus is more of a _contractor_ than a member. He moves in the shadows, operates in circles the more reputable of us would never dream of touching. He is a useful resource to tap."

Harry scoffed at that. "Let me guess…he's nicked something? Or bought something too hot for others to handle. He seems the sort for that type of thing. And now you're going to take it off his hands."

"Something like that," Dumbledore replied, cryptically. "But, as it is a matter of _life or death_ for me, I'm prepared to overlook the moral conundrum for now."

Harry sat up, alert. "Life or death? What do you mean?"

Dumbledore folded his newspaper and placed it on the seat next to him. He gave Harry an appraising stare, which made Harry blush under the intense scrutiny.

"Harry…I am dying," said Dumbledore solemnly. He pulled back his sleeve to give Harry a much better view of his blackened hand and wrist. "The curse that Voldemort's Ring Horcrux wrought upon me is slowly taking my life. If I cannot find a solution, in less than a year…I will be dead."

"No!" Harry blurted out, his emotion controlling him. He couldn't believe it, wouldn't accept it. Despite all that was going on with Harry's new doubt about his mentor, this was still _Dumbledore_ …he couldn't die. Could he? Harry riled against the concept. "No…it cant be true!"

"I am afraid it is _very_ true," Dumbledore replied, his voice almost lyrically soft. "I made a terrible error in awakening the power of Tom Riddle's Horcrux…now only he can cure me."

"Then…are we getting something belonging to him? Something to keep you alive?"

"Something that is neither, but which may _prolong_ me," Dumbledore replied. "Something that only _you_ can validate the genuineness of."

"Me?" asked Harry, perplexed. "How will I know?"

"Because you will recognise its signature," said Dumbledore. "Or, at least, recognise the signature of the last thing that was made in it."

Harry frowned. "I really don't know what you are talking about."

"Were you not the one who questioned me regarding lingering magical residues?" asked Dumbledore. "Did you not channel the beautiful brain of your equally beautiful young lady, and deduce that exposure to a Horcrux would leave a physical mark on you?"

"I did," Harry confirmed, basking a moment in an image of his beautiful Hermione. He missed her so very much, it ached in his chest. "But how is that relevant now?"

"Because Horcruxes are not alone in leaving such an impression," said Dumbledore. "And it is _another_ object that you have been in contact with that I am interested in tonight."

"And what's that?"

"You'll see soon enough," Dumbledore replied, cryptically.

The train suddenly slowed, and the tinny voice on the intercom sounded loud again. "The next station is Immore Alley. All change at this station."

Harry and Dumbledore rose, disembarking as the train came to a halt. Harry had to hurry to keep up with Dumbledore, who was making quite the pace. Then something occurred to Harry.

"Sir…I didn't buy a ticket. Wont I be stopped trying to get out?"

"No matter, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Here…take this."

He handed Harry an oyster shell. Harry looked up questioningly. "What's this?"

"The world is your oyster, Harry," Dumbledore smiled. "Just tap this against the barrier at the top of these stairs to get out and explore that world!"

Harry was doubtful, but did as he was told. Sure enough, the turnstile at the top of the long flight of stairs swung open and Harry followed Dumbledore through and out of the station.

And he got his first, eye-opening look at Immore Alley.

The experience was a veritable assault on the senses. It was loud, both in terms of noise and colour. There were sights and smells and feelings, all hitting so fast and frequent that Harry struggled to take them in. There were smoking dens, gin palaces, brothels and revue bars. Harry walked close to Dumbledore, hardly believing what his eyes were showing him. He had no idea any of this existed on the magical side of London.

But Dumbledore was an old hand at this. He dodged opium sellers, brushed off _Little Issue_ vendors, and skilfully avoided those religious zealots promoting the new _Church of Voldemort_ with placards and glossy flyers.

A haggard-looking witch then approached them. She had spotted them as soon as they left the station and followed their every step, till she saw her chance to move in. She was a caricature of a crone, complete with a big wart on her oversized nose. She sidled up to Dumbledore, and pulled her robe apart to flash an ample cleavage right in his face.

"Hi, old timer, fancy a bit of fun?" she crooned toothily. "Fifteen Galleons…all I can _eat_."

"Thank you, but no," Dumbledore replied politely.

"Twelve then," haggled the hag. "For ten Sickles your foreign friend can watch."

Harry bit his tongue and tried not to laugh. But Dumbledore simply frowned. "I said no."

"Suit yourself," said the hag, utterly unoffended. She spotted another potential punter across the street. "Hello, darlin'…fancy a good time tonight…come 'ere, let me warm your cockles…"

"Interesting place this," Harry smirked, falling into stride alongside Dumbledore.

"It certainly keeps a wizard entertained," Dumbledore returned. "Just make sure to wash thoroughly after a visit to one of these establishments."

"Sir!" Harry admonished in mock shock. "Don't tell me you have -"

"Ah! Here we are, Harry," Dumbledore cut across quickly, so quickly in fact that Harry just burst out laughing. He looked up at a tall, angular building with a gaudy blue and red neon sign which read _Fletchers_. Then he looked down into the doorway.

And Harry's laughter fell away quickly. For two hefty security trolls had emerged from the gloom of the club foyer to assess them. Dumbledore held himself tall and sturdy, so Harry did the same.

"Name and business?" one of the trolls grunted.

"Albus Dumbledore, to meet with Mr Fletcher," Dumbledore replied.

The troll grunted in acknowledgement. "And this one?"

"You don't need to worry about this one," said Dumbledore. "He isn't for you to be concerned about."

Harry felt a light, barely noticeable sweep of magic flow off Dumbledore. It was whisper-soft, and Harry rather thought he would have missed it if it wasn't for his recent new awareness of such magical impulses. But notice it he did, though before he could question what it was, the troll made it quite clear.

"He isn't for us to be concerned about," the troll parroted dopily.

"No," said Dumbledore genially. "We may enter?"

"You may enter," the troll repeated.

"Thank you," said Dumbledore.

Harry waited until they were into the cool of the foyer before turning to the Headmaster. "What was _that_ all about?"

"Trolls are brutish, but their brains are easy to manipulate," said Dumbledore firmly. "They are easy to make susceptible to _suggestion."_

"Wow," said Harry, impressed. "Will you teach me to do that?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "If you insist it of me, I will. But let us focus on the task at hand for now."

Harry accepted that and followed Dumbledore down a wide spiral stairway. The sounds of music and drinking and revelry drifted to their ears long before they reached the bottom of the stairs, where a wizard in fancy red robes bowed them through a set of heavy oak doors.

And the sight which greeted them nearly made Harry's eyes pop out of his poor, teenaged head.

For the place was the very definition of debauched. At first glance, Harry counted seven small stages dotted about the place, where scantily-clad witches writhed and gyrated around poles while wizards tossed gold Galleons at them. Then there were tables covered in lines of white powder, and roulette and card tables, and yet more leggy witches in fur and feathers, and little else, were walking about offering private dances to wizards in booths, and the whole place was diffused with a sort of dull, red light. Several of the witches passed Harry and smiled pretty smiles at him, and he might have been tempted, but a Hermione-like voice in his head said quite simply…

_Don't you even think about it!_

Which was enough to make Harry forget the whole sordid scheme at once.

"Professor?" Harry queried. "You are doing a deal _here_? In this _pit_?"

"Quite," Dumbledore agreed. "Come, Mundungus is waiting for us."

Harry followed the Headmaster to a large circular booth at the back of the venue. Harry recognised Mundungus Fletcher sitting there, from the Order meetings he'd attended at Grimmauld Place. What he _wasn't_ expecting were the two quite beautiful witches sitting either side of him. Mundungus was a gnarled, ugly wizard…the two beauties next to him were anything but. And as they sat there, with their large, pert breasts threatening to escape their oh-so-small bikini tops, Harry marvelled at the power this magical underworld kingpin must have have wielded over them.

It was something to occupy Harry's thoughts, especially when one of the witches bent over to pour them drinks, exposing her thong bikini bottoms and tanned upper thighs as she did so. Harry blinked, and tried to keep his mind on the mission. But it was hard.

"Albus! Welcome," Fletcher simpered. "Please, sit."

"Thank you," said Dumbledore.

"And who is your friend?" asked Fletcher, nodding at Harry.

"The expert I told you about," said Dumbledore. "His name is unimportant. He is here to validate your claims on the artefact, nothing more."

"And how will he do that?" asked Fletcher.

"He will tell me," said Dumbledore, simply. "And I will believe him."

"Does your friend like women?" asked Fletcher. "Or men, perhaps? Girls? Can I interest him in a _private audience_ with one of my witches? He looks young…and I _have_ young…if that's his thing. _How_ young is always negotiable…"

Harry snatched at his wand, furious anger pulsating in him. But Dumbledore pressed his hand to Harry's shoulder to still him.

"No audiences, thank you," Dumbledore replied, his teeth gritted.

"As you wish," said Fletcher. "But he doesn't drink either? You know how I get suspicious of men who don't drink."

"This one is incorruptible," said Dumbledore stoutly. "You are dealing with me, Mr Fletcher. Concern yourself with _that_."

"Very well, Albus. Let's get down to the boring business of _business._ "

Fletcher clapped his hands, and his bikini-clad companions sashayed away, which Harry thought was for the best. At least for _him_. Perhaps he could concentrate now.

"You have the artefact?" asked Dumbledore.

"As promised," Fletcher returned.

He reached under the table to retrieve a small wooden chest no bigger than a picnic hamper. He placed it on the table, turned it, then opened the lid in dramatic fashion.

"Direct from Paris…the alchemical crucible of _Nicolas Flamel_!" Fletcher announced theatrically. "The only known vessel _in the world_ known to have successfully birthed a Philosopher's Stone!"

Harry felt his eyes pop open beneath his sunglasses. He looked at the small little vessel, fascinated by the purported history Fletcher was suggesting. Then a question struck him. If this had once belonged to Flamel, what did Dumbledore want with it?

But Dumbledore was animated in his excitement. "You have proof? Documentation?"

Fletcher nodded. "All in with the price. This came from a legitimate auction of Flamel's estate in France. But your _expert_ can offer validity, if you prefer."

Harry shifted awkwardly. He was no antiques expert…how did Dumbledore expect him to know anything?

"I do prefer," said Dumbledore. "Here, my friend, take this vessel…and tell me what you think."

 _How am I supposed to do that?_ Harry thought desperately.

And Dumbledore hit him with a blast of Legilimency.

_"Just pick up the object, Harry. Relax your mind…if the residue of the Stone is there, you'll know."_

Harry nodded to indicate compliance, then took the little crucible out of the box. Immediately, he knew there was something about it. He couldn't have said what, or even described it, but there was a sense of familiarity about the thing, a lingering force that some part of Harry recognised. This, he supposed, was what he was looking for.

Playing the part of mysterious being, Harry turned the object around a few times, held it close for inspection, then just looked at Dumbledore…and nodded as if satisfied. Dumbledore understood, and nodded back. Then he turned to Fletcher.

"How much?"

"Ten thousand," Fletcher replied.

Harry spat out a choking breath.

"Ten thousand… _cash_ ," said Fletcher, affronted.

"Five," Dumbledore offered.

"Nine."

"Six thousand. And I wont kill _both_ your security trolls when I leave this time."

Fletcher growled. "Seven and a half."

"Done."

Harry spluttered and coughed again. Fletcher scowled at him, but shook hands with Dumbledore, who conjured a large purse bulging with coins and quickly slid the box and crucible into his robe.

"A necessary evil doing business with you, as always," Dumbledore proffered as he stood up. "Now, if there's nothing else, I will take my leave."

"Actually, there is just one more thing," said a voice from around the corner of the booth. "I would like a private word with that young wizard in the turban."

Harry looked up at a dark-featured wizard who had emerged into the ethereal red glow of the lights around the place.

"Who are you?" asked Harry.

"I am the brother of a dead wizard, one last seen alive by _you,_ " the wizard replied. "And I am very anxious to know how you came to let him die. Especially since he bequeathed our family estate and titles to you on the occasion of his passing."

Harry was too stunned to even consider a reply. So the wizard continued.

"Also, I currently have your girlfriend staying on my estate, under the watchful eye of Hit Wizards, who swore to live and die at my command ten years before you were even born. So, if you don't give me an answer I'm happy with, I will simply order her execution, as legal vengeance for the death of my brother, in accordance with tradition. And who am I, before you ask? My name is Caul Roth, but my close friends call me by my _true_ name … Regulus … Regulus _Black_.

"Sirius was my dear, much beloved brother. So, speak…Harry Potter, and speak well. Hermione Granger's life depends on it."


	20. The Irregular Black

At the mention of a direct threat to Hermione, Harry finally found his voice again.

And his protective imperative wasn't far behind it.

Harry leapt up in a gout of angry rage and lunged at Regulus, who stepped back in surprise, as a combination of a Shield Charm from Dumbledore and Mundungus' strong grip on Harry's collar kept him from wrapping his hands around Regulus' throat.

"If you harm so much as an _eyelash_ on her, I will spend the rest of my life making you regret whatever I decide is left of yours!" he growled angrily. "Caul or Regulus, or whatever you want to be called, you don't want me as your enemy!"

"And you wont be," said Dumbledore, moving swiftly to try and diffuse the ramped up tension. "We are all on the same side here."

"Albus...this boy is _responsible_ for the death of my brother," said Regulus. "Why invite me here if not to have him take ownership of that?"

Harry snapped his head at Dumbledore. "You _invited_ him here? Why?"

"For Regulus, in his guise as Caul Roth, is the acknowledged face of Brompton Road," Dumbledore explained. "He is the point of contact for many of our operatives, the wizard who moves in the high circles of society and Government, and a man you will have to work closely with, Harry, should you wish to join our organisation."

"Join us!" Regulus scoffed. "Albus...this boy cannot join us. He is just...a boy."

"I'm sixteen years old!" Harry stabbed. "I'm old enough."

"Old enough to get my brother killed, clearly," said Regulus.

"I did _not_ get him killed!" Harry yelled, churning guilt and boiling fury warring in him for dominance. "He died fighting just like ... like he would have wanted to."

Harry repeated the words Hagrid had once used to try and ease his own marrow-deep pain over Sirius ... but they were just as hollow now as they'd been then. And Harry regretted saying them the moment they left his mouth.

"My brother did not want to die at all!" Regulus scythed back. "He endured Azkaban for Merlin's sake. If he had any sort of death wish that would have been the ideal time to fulfil it. Not running to the aid of a pig-headed boy who needs someone else to do his thinking for him."

Harry faltered at the blatant reference to Hermione, trapped at some unknown location, under a threat she probably didn't have any idea about. Harry was mindless, in a confusing swell of different fears, and didn't know how to bring order to them. He begged internally for Hermione to slow this slew of anxiety.

And, as if by divine providence, she did.

Or at least, that's what Harry was happy to believe. He took a breath to calm himself, closed and reopened his eyes several times, then looked at Regulus in stolid sorrow.

"Sirius' death _is_ my fault, I know that," he mumbled. "If I could take it back, change it, make it _me_...I would do it in an instant. Or I would have ... till I found Hermione in the way I have. I don't deserve it, but I'm begging you for mercy. Not for myself, but for _her_. If you need revenge, take it out on me. It was my fault, not hers. She's innocent in this...I'm the sixteen-year-old who cost Sirius his life. It's a mistake I'll have to live with for however many years I have left."

"Like I said...just a boy," Regulus replied, though his expression had lost a little of its rancour. "One who mistakes follow like a fart under a blanket."

"Which is something you are also familiar with, considering _you_ joined the Death Eaters at roughly the same age," Dumbledore offered gently.

Harry sucked in a shocked breath, his ire rushing back to him in a fierce torrent. "A _Death Eater_? Dumbledore...you work with scum like this!? You align yourself with Voldemort's minions? Wait a minute, let me guess ... he's _sorry_ , is he? And you're going to try and _redeem him?_ Oh for fuck's sake, Dumbledore!"

Regulus flinched at the mention of Voldemort. "The boy is either very brave...or very foolish, to say the name so wantonly."

"Or maybe I'm just not afraid of a stupid name!" Harry vented. "By the way, I'm _in_ the room, you can talk _to_ me, not _about_ me."

Regulus turned his eyes on Harry who saw, for the first time, the unmistakable resemblance to his Godfather. But the similarity was brief, for though Regulus had eyes like Sirius they lacked the warmth and humour that Harry had grown used to seeing in his father's once-best-friend. A light that even a decade in Azkaban could not extinguish.

"I see the legend of your arrogance has not been misplaced," Regulus sneered.

"Got that from your Death Eater buddies too, did you?" Harry riled.

"Regulus left the Death Eaters a long time ago," Dumbledore cut across. "He took steps to try and weaken Lord Voldemort and, when he failed, he came to me with his secret."

Harry took a breath at that. " _He_ told you about Horcruxes?"

"No, Harry, I knew that already," said Dumbledore. "But Regulus came to me with the information that he had found one of them. It was from there that I began investigating the possibility that Tom Riddle had created more still."

"A theory confirmed when Ginny Weasley poured her soul into Riddle's diary," Harry completed. "Okay, fine. But what did he want in return? Turncoats always want some sort of sweetener."

"Protection and a new life," Regulus answered. "Is that reason enough for you, Mr Potter? A chance to redeem myself once my eyes had been opened to the true horrors that Death Eating came with."

"Got cold feet did you?" Harry taunted, still bubbling with anger at this unresolved threat against Hermione, which was smothering the back of his mind. "Was it killing Muggles that turned you? Or stealing candy from babies? Or simply licking the blood from Voldemort's wand?"

"Harry!" Dumbledore admonished. "This bickering is pointless."

"Pointless!" Harry spat vehemently. "This fascist is threatening my Hermione...and you think my anger is _pointless?"_

"Yes, because Regulus will not do a single thing against her," said Dumbledore, firmly. "His threats are idle, Harry. Hermione is quite safe. We are on _the same side._ "

"He has Hit Wizards ready to attack her!" Harry cried. "You heard him say that!"

Dumbledore waved his hand dismissively. "School friends who pledged a playground allegiance when he was nine years old, nothing more. Now his aides and farm hands. We all had vivid imaginations as children, did we not?"

Harry breathed heavily, cautious and suspicious. He eyeballed Regulus as fiercely as he could. "Is this true?"

Regulus glowered back. Harry had confirmation in his silence, his irritation spiking again. Regulus hitched a firm expression back to his face.

"Why make up such a lie?" Harry thundered. "Why threaten Hermione? I should cut out your tongue just for saying the words."

Regulus turned and offered a wry smirk to Dumbledore. "I see what you meant, Albus. Perhaps I took the wrong tack here. But I still want answers about my brother."

Dumbledore offered a light chuckle by way of response, and Harry was incensed by the lightness with which they were treating this most hated of topics.

"That bitch Bellatrix Lestrange killed him!" Harry shot. "And that twisted family house-elf of yours was a part of the whole thing. Apart from Sirius, your entire family is dark and sadistic. If I'd had any idea that Hermione would be anywhere near it I'd have never let her leave."

"But you did," said Regulus. "And she is under my watchful eye, and you have no idea where that is."

"A situation that would be very easy to change," said Harry dangerously, snapping his wand into his hand. The intensity of his magic was such that it punched a hole right through the remnants of Dumbledore's Shield Charm. Regulus' eyes shot open as it did, his pupils narrowing at the glowing wand-tip now pointing right at his face. Harry's furious magic throbbed around the booth with a subdued sense of control, causing the glasses to rattle on the table.

"Harry!" Dumbledore shot. "Do you really want to force a confession? Here? In a public place where _anyone_ could be watching or listening? Is that your idea of _protecting_ Hermione?"

Harry turned angrily to Dumbledore. "If it's good enough for your shady deeds, I think a bit of _gentle persuasion_ would be right in keeping with the mood of the place. You knowingly got into bed with a Death Eater. I know that organisation pretty well, you only leave it _one way_...and this isn't it. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't do Voldemort's work for him and punish this traitor right now?"

For the first time, Regulus seemed to understand just who he was dealing with. His bravado faltered in the face if it. "Because, if you kill me, you'll have no way of contacting your girlfriend. You'd have no way of reassuring her that you are safe and well, information I know _she_ is highly anxious to learn."

Harry took a turn to stutter now. "You...you've _seen_ her?"

"Not in person," said Regulus, trying to back away from the pulsing tip of Harry's wand. "But she has spoken extensively to my wife. She assures me that the girl is simply desolate with you, desperate for any news on your welfare. Without me, she will receive no such intelligence."

Harry swallowed hard, his mind hitching achingly on the concept of _Hermione_ _unhappy_. He hated himself for causing it, but took solace in the fact that she was at least safe.

"So, is that why you came here? To offer to be a personal postman between myself and Hermione?"

"No, I came because Dumbledore invited me," Regulus replied. "I admit I was curious to meet the Boy-Who-Lived himself. To see if all that Dumbledore waxes lyrical about you could possibly be true. To see if the man Albus intends to be his _successor_ in this organisation is up to the job."

Harry whipped his head back to Dumbledore. "Successor?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Harry, I am an old man. Whether this curse kills me, or Merlin decides it is time to summon me home, my time on this Earth will end one day. And nature abhors a vacuum, so yes...I do intend you to replace me."

Then Harry was struck by a sudden thought. He leant in close so only Dumbledore would hear him. "But, Professor, you _wont_ die, will you? You made a Horcrux. It will keep you anchored even if your body dies."

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, Harry. This is the deep flaw that comes with using a living creature as a vessel, no matter that I didn't intend it. For it, too, will die eventually, which is why Aberforth continually passes my sister's soul from one old goat to a young foal. And, in the case of Fawkes, he _chose_ me. Renewed me for as long as my natural life will allow. My body will die, like anything else. Only the Darkest of magic could prevent _that_."

The Headmaster's eyes glistened with meaning, and Harry's mind flew back to that conversation he'd witnessed on the Marauder's Map. What was it that Voldemort had said...about a _renewal_ spell...was Dumbledore inferring something about _that?_ What else had the old wizard done that he'd hidden from the world?

Harry wasn't going to give the old coot the satisfaction of knowing he'd stumbled onto another aspect of his grey plan, so he simply filed the thought away to be reviewed later. Maybe he and Hermione could...Harry gulped, as reality bit his tongue for him. No, he would have to do this all alone. He just hoped Hermione had taught him enough to do it right.

"So, I'm not here to join you...but to _lead_ you?" Harry pushed, moving away from Dumbledore again.

"One day, Harry," Dumbledore quirked. "When you are ready. But I still have a trick or two left up my wizards' sleeve!"

 _I bet you do_ , Harry wanted bitterly to say. But instead, he settled on, "Then why invite _him_ here?"

Harry jabbed his wand at Regulus again, causing sparks to shoot out of the end. Regulus yelped and jumped back as they prickled his chest, only to crumple as the back of his knees collided with the booth seat.

"I was true in what I said," Dumbledore replied. "It was important for you to meet. You will have to work together if we are to have any hope of resisting this descending evil. Also, I know how you yearn for Miss Granger ... Regulus here will at least be able to pass on first-hand knowledge of you to her, to put her mind at ease."

Harry accepted the merit of that. But he was far from satisfied.

"Sit," he commanded to Regulus, who was trying to regain his feet.

Sixteen he may only have been, but Harry Potter had the capacity to exude the powerful presence of a young man who had fought, and escaped, Lord Voldemort more than once. Hermione Granger had instilled this unshakable confidence into his very essence without Harry ever really knowing when or how she had done it. But there it was, and he felt it pointedly now. Regulus Black, too, accepted this truth wholly at last, and sat down nervously. Harry lowered himself to his seat with controlled movements, never once dropping his wand.

"Dumbledore said you knew about the Horcruxes Voldemort made.," Harry went on. "You will tell me everything you know, how you learned about them, how you found one, and what you did with it. If you tell the truth, I may be willing to overlook your utter idiocy in threatening the love of my eternity. If you lie, I will break bits off of you until you reconsider."

Regulus gulped hard. "Okay, Harry. Look, I..I'm sorry for what I said about Hermione. She is under my protection, my _care_. I was foolish to say what I did. Forgive me. I swear to you I wont hurt her."

Harry was pacified by that, but had no desire to let it show. "Damned right you wont. That's the first sensible thing you've said since you've been here. But why did you think that was wise to start with?"

"Forgive me, I am powerful and influential," Regulus plead. "I am used to saying what I want and, usually, getting my own way. In my line of work, it pays to take an aggressive approach. I see I was wrong to posture with you over the issue of Hermione. Dumbledore warned me about it...I was stupid to ignore his advice."

"At least on _that_ we can agree," said Harry, leaning back and easing his wand down a fraction. "So, the Horcruxes?"

"I might need a drink for this," said Regulus. He summoned an olive-skinned witch, with slender bare legs that seemed to go on forever, and ordered a bottle of Llewellyn's Single Malt and one glass. He poured a generous shot and downed it in one, hissing as the satisfying warmth flowed down his throat. Then he turned back to Harry, whose poor brain was still fighting against the musings of what was at the top of those enticing, tanned legs...

"The Horcruxes," Regulus began, refilling his glass. "Oddly enough, it was The Dark Lord who drew _me_ into his confidence."

"You still call him _The Dark_ _Lord?_ " asked Harry, suspiciously.

"Fear is a great conditioner," Regulus retorted. "As a junior member of The Death Eaters I could expect - and received on the occasion of lapses in concentration - beatings for getting my address to Him wrong. It is also a lot easier than all that _You-Know-Who_ nonsense. Of course we know _who_...he butchered enough people to leave virtually no family untouched, whether they be friend or foe."

Regulus shuddered at the memory and downed another glass of whiskey.

"I think my cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, was behind it," Regulus went on. "After my brother disgraced his family, and every Pureblood, by siding with the Potters and the _other side,_ Bella was singularly keen to show The Dark Lord that the Blacks were still as ... well ... _black-hearted_ as ever. So she volunteered our house-elf into The Dark Lord's service, when he requested one for a personal duty of high importance.

"Bella was delighted, but Kreacher was _my_ elf, not _hers_. Her arrogance in just _deciding_ she would use him, without any sort of discussion, simply enraged me. Kreachy wasn't a servant or a slave, not to _me_ ... he was my friend. As a boy, he was my playmate, and devoted hours and hours to my company and entertainment. I _loved_ that elf, more than any human I'd ever known.

"And his mate was my wet nurse-elf. Mummy wasn't much for the dirty, hands-on business of parenting. It may come as little surprise to learn that a lot of Dark Mothers tend to be witches not blessed with strong maternal instincts. Those incredible little elves _raised_ me. And it took The Dark Lord threatening them for me to truly realise that. To realise just how amazing and important and selfless they were. They were worth so much more than The Dark Lord suggested."

"So, what did he want Kreacher for?" asked Harry, softening to Regulus at a stroke. Hermione would like this guy ... he would have been Member Number One of S.P.E.W... and Harry felt a deep sense of self-revulsion that he had never taken the issue anything like as seriously as it deserved, as much as Hermione's unswerving devotion to the cause warranted. It wouldn't have hurt him, or cost him, to support Hermione and her passion to help others. He felt unworthy of her just then, but determined to make amends.

"The Dark Lord was designing the defences to one his Horcruxes," Regulus replied. "To begin with, I had no idea what it was. But every now and then Bella would turn up at Grimmauld Place and whisk Kreachy away. I might not see him for days, and he was sworn to secrecy about what he was doing.

"At first, it didn't seem so bad. I couldn't tell he was any different. But slowly, over time, I began noticing changes. He started talking to himself, his balance and coordination dropped off a cliff, like he was constantly drunk. Then, after one session away, he came back and I found him in the kitchen, crying and rocking on haunches.

"I'd never seen an elf cry before. I didn't even know they _could_. But the sight broke me in half. Kreacher couldn't tell me what had happened, but the experience clearly had been horrific. I was determined to find out the truth, so I got hold of a vial of Veritaserum. I knew even _this_ was a violation, but what choice did I have?"

"What did he tell you?" Harry asked.

"He told me that The Dark Lord had a special item, one Kreacher knew was Darker than most. And he would know ... I understand you've seen Grimmauld Place and the sorts of things it contains. He knew when an object was corrupted. He told me The Dark Lord had placed this object in a cave, surrounded it by Inferi and in some sort of enchanted basin."

"Inferi?" Harry shuddered. "They are zombie-like things, aren't they? Hermione told me about them."

"Yes, and The Dark Lord has a whole army of them," Regulus confirmed. "I saw it ... when I had Kreacher take me to the cave."

"You went there?" Harry breathed, begrudgingly impressed by Regulus' courage. He rather thought Sirius would be proud of that.

"I did," said Regulus. "The cave was in a most inaccessible location. High waves, driving winds, razor-sharp rocks ... indeed, without magic I doubt I would have found it safely."

"But you did? And what was inside? This basin and the object? What was it?"

"It was a Locket that once belonged to Salazar Slytherin," said Regulus. Harry could have sworn he heard a barely-audible 'ah' escape Dumbledore's throat next to him, but when he looked the old Headmaster seemed quite placid and unmoved. "He had encased it in a basin full of a liquid substance that I'd not seen before or since. Kreacher said it drove the drinker mad with horrendous visions, ones that inspired the deepest, bone-shaking fear. It's designed to break the will, before the drinker reaches the bottom."

"And you made Kreacher drink it?" Harry asked in horror.

"No, I fucking _didn't!_ " Regulus spat back, disgusted. " _I_ drank the potion, leaving Kreachy with instruction to take the Locket and destroy it. The experience was ... _terrible_. I can't even begin to describe it effectively enough. But I was beaten by it, I should have died in that cave. But Kreacher disobeyed my request, taking both the Locket and me away when the Inferi came to make me one of them."

Harry felt a thrill of cold terror course delicately over his goose-pimpled flesh at the image. "So, you destroyed the Locket?"

"No, we couldn't," Regulus explained. "Kreacher knew I wouldn't be safe if I returned home. So he took me far away, to a forest habitat in Wales where wild elves still have a Warren. He nursed me back to health and, when I was strong enough, we tried to destroy the Locket. But it resisted every sort of witchcraft and elf-craft we could throw at it.

"I'd never seen anything like it, had no idea what it was. So I reached out to the only wizard powerful enough who _might_."

"That would be _me_ ," Dumbledore smiled. "I knew right away what it might be, even without giving away the secret. I told Regulus only enough to hint at the Darkness of the object ... mindful that he might be a spy for the other side."

"We had little trust for each other at first, as you can imagine," said Regulus. "But I knew Dumbledore was the best chance I had. But I also wanted The Dark Lord to know his secret was out, a tiny act of rebellion against him. So I forged an identical Locket and placed it in the cave, just in case He came to check on it. To this day I don't know if he knows the one in that basin is a fake."

"He will soon enough," said Harry. "Because he's trying to put them back together."

Regulus looked at Dumbledore in unmasked shock. "Is this true?"

Dumbledore nodded. "It is. But do not worry about it. He has no idea how to re-fuse himself, so the ruse is safe for now."

"Unless he finds the real one," Harry pointed out. "Which is... _where_?"

"Under the protection of the one who took it from the basin," Regulus replied.

Harry spat out a stunned breath. "Kreacher! I ... I saw a Locket around his neck! Is that the one? That isn't anything _like_ safe!"

"Of course it is," said Regulus. "Elf magic is formidable. And they have an innate sense of when they are in danger. Plus, Kreacher is locked to a house protected by _you_. I'd say that was pretty secure, wouldn't you?"

Harry opened his mouth to argue, then forgot the point he was going to make. He shuddered a little to think that a fragment of Voldemort's soul was around Kreacher's neck, sharing a house with...

"Oh sweet Merlin!" Harry moaned. "Hermione's parents are in that house with that ... that ... _thing_! I want it away from them!"

"Impossible without my permission, which I have no intention of giving," said Regulus stoutly. "However, we could remove Miss Granger's parents from there if you are so worried, put them somewhere else."

"Like where?"

"My estate is perfectly safe," said Regulus. "We could reunite Miss Granger with her parents. I suspect you want to send her a message ... that seems as poignant a one as any."

Harry felt his heart hammer into his ribs. Sending Hermione's parents to her, to look after her properly. It would put her mind at ease, and his. It was almost too perfect.

"You guarantee their safety?" Harry asked.

"As much as any safety can be guaranteed in such times as these," said Regulus.

"And how will I get them to you?"

"I offer my services as courier," said Dumbledore. "I will ensure their delivery to Brompton Road, and Regulus can do the rest."

"Okay, lets do that, today," said Harry firmly. "I want it done right away."

"Very well, I will make the arrangements," said Regulus. "Would ... would you like me to pass an _actual_ message to Miss Granger? I can tell her you are well."

"No ... I don't want you to tell her anything, you'll probably say it wrong anyway," said Harry. "But I want you to _take_ her something ... something she'll know came from me, something you'll have to bring back to prove she's okay. I don't want to send messages, anything that could be intercepted and lead her into trouble. But if we can do something subtle, something that proves we are both alright, that is personal to _us,_ that will be enough for now."

Harry turned to Dumbledore.

"Sir, you're good at Transfiguration, aren't you?"

"I have a very respectable NEWT qualification, yes," Dumbledore replied with a sparkling smile. "What can I use it for, my dear boy?"

Harry reached down to the table and passed a goblet to Dumbledore. "Could you Transfigure this, to be an exact replica of my glasses?"

"Of course," said Dumbledore. "But why?"

"Can you just do it, please?" Harry urged.

Dumbledore nodded and drew his wand, then tapped it against the rim of the goblet. There was a brief puff of light, and Harry found himself holding a new set of round-rimmed spectacles identical to his own. He replaced the ones on his head with the new set, satisfied that his sight was as decent as could be expected on this new pair. Then, quite to the surprise of Dumbledore and Regulus, Harry rapped the lens of his old glasses hard against the table edge. The glass cracked, but didn't shatter.

"Harry ... what are you doing?" asked Dumbledore, bemused.

"Here," said Harry, passing the glasses to Regulus. "Give these to Hermione. Say nothing. She'll know what it means and, if she's safe, she'll know what to do next."

"And this... _means something?"_ asked Regulus, equally as perplexed as Dumbledore.

"To _us_ , yes," Harry replied. "Which is why I'm telling you nothing more about it. Private communication needs to stay well... _private_. Right now, we just need to know the other is okay. That's it. So, do this for me. Maybe then I might start to trust you."

"If that's what it takes, I will do as you ask," said Regulus, pocketing the broken glasses. "Very well. I will leave you now. Dumbledore ... I will go to Brompton Road and await your arrival with the Grangers. Good evening both."

And with that, Regulus Black reached down and drained the last of the whiskey on the table. Then he turned from them and left.

* * *

 _The Track and Sleepers_ _Café_ , opposite the disused surface-level entrance to Brompton Road tube station, was an L-shaped building with low-ceilings, poor lighting, not particularly clean, and with a floor with more spit than sawdust. A large bar in desperate need of a coat of varnish dominated most of the space, and the staff who stood behind it had seemingly been hired due to their freedom from the shackles of courtesy or competence. As a place to get quietly drunk it was as good as any other.

But if you were in search of fine cuisine, sparkling conversation and high London society you were in the wrong place.

It was into this environment that Regulus Black entered, in his incarnation as Caul Roth. It wasn't unusual for those of prominence to frequent the place. It was close to local law courts and a research institute for the London School of Economics. Closer still was a high-end brothel of some repute, where the girls would do anything for the right price, and _The Sleepers_ was the perfect bargaining ground for such transactions.

Caul entered the bar and ordered a dark beer. It was hard to tell _what_ was in his glass, as the whole place was so dim, even more so in the corner he slunk to in order to wait. He kept the rim of his Trilby pulled low over his brow, but with just enough view to watch the door. He was careful not to make eye contact with the other patrons, instead pretending to casually asses the chipped squares of enamel on boards advertising old spirits and tobacco, or smirk in amusement at the smoke-browned and peeling paper posters of vintage trains and holiday advertisements.

And in this yellow-lit, filthy den, Caul Roth patiently waited.

Presently, the door to the bar opened again. A tall man wearing a long, khaki trenchcoat entered, his silver hair twisted up under a quite ridiculous Fedora. His beard couldn't be hidden, but he had clasped it in three places and tucked the very bottom into his silver-buckled belt, making it look like a very bizarre tie. He ordered an India Pale Ale and moved to join Caul at his table.

"Welcome ... _Alan_ , take a seat," said Caul.

Albus Dumbledore, in his own cover as Alan Dale, smiled over the rim of his pint and eased himself down into the chair opposite Caul.

"Good evening, Lord Roth," said Dumbledore jauntily. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Just a swift after work beer," said Caul, before sliding his wand out under the table and casting a Privacy Charm around them. "I see you've relieved yourself of your _cargo_. Were you followed here?"

"Naturally, but my brother does a very good impression as my double," said Dumbledore. "I imagine he's leading the GR on a merry dance around The West End right about now."

Caul chuckled at that. "And the boy?"

"Safely back at Hogwarts."

" _Safety_ at Hogwarts was always something of a relative thing," said Caul.

"I left him in the capable hands of Mr Neville Longbottom," said Dumbledore. "You knew his mother, Alice, I believe?"

"A little," said Caul, shifting uncomfortably.

"What did you think of Harry? I am fascinated to know."

"He is, as you said, driven by anger, with more than a little douse of self-loathing," said Caul. "It is a potentially volcanic mix. But his devotion to this girl of his is startling. I genuinely thought he might have killed me."

"Oh, I'm quite certain he would have," said Dumbledore conversationally. "Had your threat been genuine. What in Merlin's name possessed you to do that?"

"I merely wanted to test the waters," Caul replied. "It is a mistake I wont be keen to make again."

"Quite," Dumbledore chuckled. "So, you have made the arrangements for transport of the Grangers?"

"The train to Brecon will arrive in less than an hour," said Caul, checking his watch as he took another sip of beer. "Did you have any difficulty bringing them across London?"

"Nothing of note," said Dumbledore. "I used a pair of Invisibility Cloaks to hide them. I am confident they weren't seen. They are currently relaxing in the Waiting Room at the station."

"Good," said Caul. "What do you make of this message I'm to hand to Miss Granger? Broken glasses? Is that some sort of code?"

"I am uncertain," said Dumbledore. "But I have long suspected that Harry and Hermione are innately adept at non-verbal communication with one another. Indeed, I have observed it in action on many occasions. They are unusually attuned to each others facial expressions and body language, to a level that borders on the telepathic. It is almost absurd to see it, but it is undeniably there."

"And this symbol will be another part of it?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Did you notice how Harry took the Transfigured glasses for his own use, and gave you the real pair? I suspect that Miss Granger will somehow know that they are the genuine article, and infer whatever message Harry means to convey by the broken lens. I confess myself fascinated by them, and the depth of their intimacy."

"You never suspected it before?" asked Caul. "I met the boy for less than an hour and already I know that Harry Potter's world revolves around Hermione Granger. You _must_ have noticed."

"I may have suspected some partiality on _her_ side, but Harry is always so guarded with his most private emotions," said Dumbledore. "He never gave me any cause to think that he returned her affections."

"Perhaps he kept that close to his chest, lest she be targeted for the obvious importance she has to him," Caul speculated. "She would be a high-value asset if the Dark Side wanted to use her as bait."

"Quite possible," said Dumbledore. "Though I get the impression that this development came as something of a surprise to Harry, too. The death of Sirius hit him very hard, you know. The family he craved was suddenly wrenched away yet again, and it sharpened his love for those he blessed such a bestowal on. The focus of this appears to have fallen onto Miss Granger, and she needed no second invitation to take what she always hoped could be hers. The love of the boy she fell so hard for, after being rescued by him from a troll in a toilet at Hogwarts."

"That's a story I must hear in more detail one day," Caul chuckled. "But let us stay on point. So, when were you going to tell me about this plan of the Dark Lord? The reunion of his Horcruxes?"

"When I knew more," said Dumbledore skilfully. "And when were _you_ going to tell me the Locket once belonged to Slytherin? You were aware, I believe, that I was searching for such things."

"I was, and I hoped to present the destroyed thing to you one day," said Caul. "It would have been ever so dramatic, don't you agree?"

"Oh, quite," said Dumbledore genially. "But why didn't you at least tell me what it was? I could have advised on its disposal. Yet you told Harry at the first time of asking."

"Well, you never asked me at the point of your wand, Albus!" Caul snickered.

"Indeed ... that was quite the mistake on my part ... _Imperio!"_

The last, whispered word settled on Caul with the spell, like a soft spring mist. His hand, reaching out for his drink, stopped in mid-air, just as his eyes drooped and lost all focus. Dumbledore looked at him with cold fury.

"There, that's better," Dumbledore crooned. "Now, since Harry has granted me access to Grimmauld Place, I can grant it to _you_. Before you return to Wales, you will pay a visit to Kreacher and liberate him of that fascinating Locket. You will create a _second_ forgery, and replace it on him, lest Harry come across him without it and ask any awkward questions. Leave the real one in the trolls leg umbrella stand, where I shall collect it later."

"I will," said Caul helplessly.

"Then, when you see Miss Granger, you will give her Harry's glasses as instructed," Dumbledore went on. "But you will tell her that Harry was captured, tried and incinerated by the Grey Robes, for enabling her escape. Use the glasses as proof of this. You will believe this to be true, yourself. You will then report back to me with her reaction and intentions. Do you understand?"

"I understand," said Caul robotically.

"Excellent," said Dumbledore. Idea planted, he whispered the end to the Curse and watched Caul come around, his expression dropping as his new reality fell onto his controlled mind.

"Speaking of Harry," Caul said glumly. "How am I supposed to explain _this_?"

He took the glasses out of his coat and fingered the smashed lens forlornly. Dumbledore sighed heavily.

"I could tell her, if you'd prefer."

"No, I will not compromise the security of the Gardens, you know the deal," said Caul doughtily. "I will do it ... but how do I tell Hermione Granger, on the first time of meeting her, that Harry Potter is _dead_?"

* * *

It was a couple of days before Caul was able to deliver this dire piece of information. The Death Eaters and Grey Robes were establishing a suffocating choke-hold on magical Britain and movement was growing increasingly more treacherous as the days and weeks progressed. Border controls between England and Wales were stringent and rigorous, and the Great Western Express was searched from firebox to couplings as Lord Roth's personal train passed through the checkpoint.

Once through, Roth dared not take the Express to the private platform which served his estate. He was reasonably convinced that all manner of surveillance jewels or enchantments had been placed on the carriages during the search by the Border guards. It would take weeks to find and curse-break them all.

So instead, Roth ordered the train onto the National Rail network, where it trundled into Cardiff Central station as something of a kitsch sight for the commuters who saw it pass. After all, it wasn't every Thursday that an antique steam locomotive rolled through Platform Seven.

Roth and the Grangers checked into a local budget hotel chain for a few nights, while Roth surveyed the land and made arrangements for his private, armoured car to arrive to shuttle them to the safety of the Estate. Even here, the Grey Robes were making their presence felt. The Undercroft of Cardiff Castle, where the local branch of the Ministry of Magic was based, was manned exclusively by witches in slate-grey garb these days, and Caul made sure his enquires here were vague and brief.

Eventually, Roth arrived home ... but it was not the sort of return he had in mind.

"No, no ... _no!"_

Hermione's screech of heart-sore grief was so profound Caul felt it cut his own chest in half. Her scream was so loud, so shrill, that Caul thought it might have carried all the way to Hogwarts, where he was sure some kind of secret memorial would be erected to the Boy-Who-Lived.

"No, it isn't true ... it _can't be_!" Hermione shrieked, her mind whirling in profound panic. Even the presence of her parents could do little to douse her whine of abject misery.

"I'm afraid it ... it..." Caul tried. In the end, he gave up ... and simply handed over to Hermione the smashed glasses that he had sworn to bring to her.

Hermione crumpled to her knees as she took them. "No," she moaned dully, her heart trying to rip itself from her ribs. She couldn't think, she was shaking in her very bones and had no way to stop it. Her fingers trembled uncontrollably on the arm of Harry's glasses, which were as cold as the horror pulsing through her skin. She knew they were his, she could _feel_ him in them. Which must mean ...

" _NO!"_ she cried, jumping up and racing from the house, ignoring her mother's calls behind her to stop.

She ran and she ran, tears erupting from her eyes and boiling hot on her cheeks. Her breath came in ragged rasps and sobs, and she was certain she was having a heart attack. She was going to die too, and she'd see Harry soon enough. She was mindlessly cogent of the end of her world. There was noting left, it was over.

Then she fell, tripped, and plunged head first into a pool of oddly smooth water.

For a moment, she was half-convinced to keep her head there, suck in the water and drown in her piercing sorrow. But _something_ took hold of the neck of her robes and dragged her clear. Hermione spluttered and coughed and wiped the dampness from her cheeks, unable to distinguish tears from the moisture of the pond. Then she looked down, and gasped out loud.

For the water in the little pool wasn't blue or murky or muddy ... it was brilliant _white_.

It might even have been silver. Hermione reached down and cupped a handful of into her palm, letting it splash back down into the still surface. For some reason she didn't understand, the substance calmed her. She took a hitched couple of breaths and let the sensation envelope her. It gave her time to look around.

She was in the Forest near her chalet, but she hadn't been this deep inside before. She couldn't see the chalets or the meadows or the mountains anymore. And the sky was just a distant memory. In fact, it felt as if _everything_ was. For Hermione now noticed the complete lack of sound; no birds, no trickle of the little stream nearby or the creak of the old water wheel that sent her to sleep most nights.

It was like she'd stepped _out of time_.

But the place felt quite safe. The intense grief about Harry had been pushed back, not quite forgotten but parked to the side, as if waiting to be considered anew. It was this, utterly bizarre sensation, that calmed Hermione the most. It was as though something was telling her not to be so hasty, that perhaps it wasn't time to grieve just yet.

"Harry?" Hermione called out cautiously. She didn't know why, and she didn't really expect Harry to be there, but she just had a feeling, no _a certainty_ , that she wasn't alone.

This, she imagined, was her first experience of integrating with the natural world. She'd been meditating and practising, holding circle breathing exercises with Enola and Celesca, trying to feel these things that they did. And she almost could. She felt like she was on the cusp of it, as though trying to pick out a shadow in a dark room. It was there, tantalisingly close, and Hermione was desperate to take hold of it.

And now, quite unexpectedly, she had.

But it wasn't Harry that answered Hermione's summons. Hermione watched, astounded, as an animal silently moved from the dense trees and picked its way to the other side of the pool of white water. It sat down on its hind legs, perched with beauty and grace, and fixed Hermione with pure, innocent doe-eyes.

Then it _spoke_.

"Hello, Hermione."

Hermione's mouth fell open and all knowledge of language left her capacity. She blinked once, twice, and on the third occasion the animal was transformed. Hermione found herself being surveyed not by a doe, but by a very pretty women with thick auburn hair, and the most startling emerald green eyes Hermione had ever seen.

Well, _almost_ ever seen ...

"Miss ... Missus _Potter_?" Hermione asked breathlessly.

"It is wonderful to finally meet you, Hermione," Lily Potter smiled. "I have so wanted to, for the longest time, I can't even tell you. You cant imagine how excited I am right now."

Hermione had no way of answering that. She couldn't even process the implications. But she had to say _something._

"How is this possible? You ... you're _dead_? A-aren't you?"

"Oh, very much so," Lily smiled. "But when has such a trifling thing like _death_ got in the way of anything important for us magicals?"

Hermione simply goggled at her. "So, are you a _ghost_?"

"Not _really,_ " said Lily. "In fact, I'm not sure what form this is. You'll have to tell _me."_

"What? I don't understand that," said Hermione, deeply confused.

"Well, you _summoned_ me here, so I assumed you would know," said Lily. "If not, and this happened by complete accident, maybe it will fall to me to explain."

"That is _definitely_ the way this has to happen," said Hermione. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"You are in need," said Lily. "Either through great danger or great emotional stress. It has finally opened you up to the possibilities of the natural energies of the world, so desperate are you for assistance. You're willing to embrace _anything_. You called for aid ... and _I_ heard you. So, here I am."

"Wow. I didn't even think that was possible," Hermione whispered. She drank in the image of Lily before her. Oh, how Harry would love to be here, how he _should_ have been. Wait ... _Harry._

"Is he, is _Harry_ ... is he _with you_?"

Lily smiled gently at her. "No. He isn't."

Hermione felt her heart punch back to life. She sunk into the ground, warm relief rendering her inert a moment. "Then, he _isn't_ dead?"

Lily frowned. "This I don't know."

Hermione's bubble of hope was suddenly popped with an icy pin. "But, if he isn't _with you_..."

"I don't know where my son is," said Lily. "I can't feel him. But then, this isn't something new. I never can when he's at Hogwarts."

"You can't?" Hermione asked. "Why not?"

"Hogwarts is one of the most secure places on Earth, powerfully protected from incursions of all kinds," said Lily. "Including the psychic connections that allow me to be aware of Harry at all other times."

"Then you _do_ watch over him," Hermione breathed.

Lily smiled warmly at Hermione, sensible of the emotion her eyes conveyed where Harry's well-being was concerned. And deeply thankful of it.

"I do, when I can," said Lily. "I was with Harry all through his childhood ... and my sister will have a _lot_ to answer for to me, for the way she treated my boy, when the time comes. She will _not_ enjoy her afterlife one little bit, let me assure you of _that_."

"Good," Hermione nodded darkly. "With your permission I would like to make her earthly life as unpleasant as possible, if I am able."

"I look forward to watching _that_ ," Lily grinned. "I entrust you will punish her in my stead."

"You can count on it," Hermione nodded firmly. "But, you say you cant watch over Harry when he's at school? Aren't you worried about him during those times?"

"I was, I confess," said Lily. She walked slowly around the pond and sat down, facing Hermione. She beamed a bright smile at her. "But then, after his first year, I knew he was being well cared for."

Lily reached down and took Hermione's hands, clasping them gratefully in her own. Hermione felt her own fingers tremble at the emotion pulsing through her from Harry's mother.

"I knew he was in good hands," Lily whispered gently. " _These_ hands ... _your_ hands. Hermione - thank you. For taking care of my Harry all these years. I know he hasn't made it easy at times, but you've stuck by him through everything. You've guided him, helped him, put him straight when he needed it. You've watched over him in a way I never got the chance to and for that, you have my eternal thanks."

Hermione felt a sob escape her throat and her lip quivered. Lily reached over and drew her close. Hermione gave to the embrace and wept on Lily's shoulder a moment, as Lily hushed her thanks over and over until Hermione hiccuped and mastered herself.

She wiped her eyes. "You're very welcome. Harry is more than worth it."

"But still trying as all hell!" Lily laughed.

"What boy _isn't_?" Hermione giggled. "But, I still don't understand. How can you not tell if he's dead or not? Lord Roth told me he was. He even gave me his glasses."

"Harry isn't here with me, on _this side_ ," said Lily. "But that isn't conclusive proof of his condition. Like I said, Hogwarts blocks all kinds of things from entering. But, conversely, it also stops things from _leaving_."

Hermione gasped at that. "What? Do you mean ... I mean, are you saying ... are the ghosts _trapped there?_ "

"Some are, some are just afraid to leave," said Lily. "Death is a terrifying thing for many. The unknown, the unexplorable. Many choose not to face it at all."

"But some are _prevented_ from it?" Hermione asked. "Is that what you're saying?"

"More often than you know," said Lily darkly. "Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore weren't the first wizards to use such patently Dark soul magic. I am sorry to say I doubt they will be the last, either."

"There will always be those who want short-cuts to power," Hermione agreed sadly. "So, Harry's ghost could be trapped at Hogwarts?"

Lily smirked at her. "You mention Harry's ghost with nothing more than passing interest. It's as though the process to _make_ him a ghost means little to you."

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione retorted. "Of course it means more than that."

"And yet you aren't upset about it," Lily pressed. "You are perfectly calm talking to me about my son's demise."

"Well, _yes_ , but ..."

"Look, Hermione ... answer me this - do you love my son, or not?"

Hermione blushed at Lily's bluntness, but she found strength in the reply. "Of course I do. I love him more than I've ever loved anything. Ever."

"So why aren't you upset? And don't _think_ about the answer you give me ... _feel it._ Search deep within, then tell me what occurs to you."

So Hermione did. She took a breath, focused on Harry, pointed all her love and intent at him. And an answer careened into her mind.

"I don't think he's dead."

"I said don't _think!"_ Lily snapped. " _Feel_ , my girl. Then tell me the truth about _that."_

Hermione sucked in another lungful of air and crunched shut her eyes. On instinct, she reached down and held Harry's glasses again, squeezed them as if hoping to squash a revelation from the very frames. Then she felt it, like a pulse or a throb, an urge of life that was unmistakably her love's. Harry, living, existing, _loving_ for her in this collection of glass and plastic. He'd _sent_ these to her ... meant for her to see something in them.

So she held them up, examined them. And a goofy grin shot right to her face as her eyes fell on the cracked lens. She drew her wand.

_"Occulus Reparo!"_

She whispered the spell with a wave of love so powerful it left her light headed as it saturated her. The glasses weren't just repaired, but improved beyond a realm that anyone aside from her or Harry could have understood. Harry was alive, he'd sent this to tell her. He was strong and well and still fighting ... but he needed to _see_. Or needed _her_ to see. Or maybe they were accidentally the same thing.

"He's alive," Hermione breathed, not with confidence, but with immovable certainty. "My Harry is _alive!_ "

"What makes you so sure?"

"I ... I just know," said Hermione, a comforting grin crossing her lips. "I don't think I'll _ever_ believe Harry is dead ... unless I see it and feel it for myself. Until I see the light of his supernova, hear his last goodbye, I will always think that he's alive. And I haven't seen that _flash_ just yet. So he's still alive. I _feel_ it ... I _know_ it."

"I tend to agree," Lily smiled back. "Both that he is _your Harry_ and that he is still alive."

"But why does Lord Roth want me to think he isn't?" said Hermione, flushing crazily at Lily's words. "Why would he say that?"

"I don't think he _does,_ at least not _really_ ," said Lily. "But _someone_ does, and I think even poor Caul is unaware of it."

"Cursed?" Hermione hissed. "But by whom?"

"Can you think of no-one?" Lily prompted. "Is there nobody out there who might see the benefit of sowing discord between my son and the greatest source of his power? Someone utterly afraid of where that might lead?"

Hermione drew in an angry breath. " _Dumbledore!"_

"You say him, over Lord Voldemort?" Lily quirked.

"Even Voldemort isn't as underhanded as _this_!" Hermione huffed. "But ... why?"

"We can only speculate right now," said Lily. "Even in life, I knew Dumbledore wove dark and devious patterns in his world. Who knows where his threads might lead."

"But how can I find out? How can I know for sure?" asked Hermione.

"Firstly, you need to prove that Harry lives," said Lily. "You _feel_ it, feel his life, powerful and potent. His heart beating for you, as yours does for him. That is something even Albus Dumbledore cannot trump. What you need to do is use it communicate with him in unexpected ways."

"But how do I do that?" asked Hermione. "I can't contact Harry as it is."

"Then contact him as it _could be_ ," said Lily. "Use your imagination."

Hermione frowned. "I'm not sure I _have_ an imagination."

"Then you have to develop one," said Lily simply. "You are in a forest, whose trees have roots that go very deep, to energies old. Find them, _use_ them. Follow where they lead, to wherever Harry might be. That's the only way to reach him ... the only way to _save_ him."

"Save him?" Hermione asked, nervously.

"Dumbledore wants you to believe something you know cannot be true," said Lily. "Whatever his intention is, you must assume Harry is ignorant of it. You know he would never be a part of wilfully deceiving you, especially if that would involve the shattering upset of allowing you to think he had died. Whatever deception Dumbledore has enacted, he is likely duping Harry, too."

"And, if Dumbledore does want me to believe Harry is dead, he must have a reason for it," Hermione mused. "You know, I might find out more if I pretend to be the poor, grieving girlfriend, rather than challenging him for the truth. I wonder if I can be that convincing an actress? Either way, I still need to verify that Harry is alive."

"Then use this place," said Lily.

"This forest clearing?" asked Hermione. "How?"

" _Forest clearing_? Is that all you think this is?"

"What don't I know?" asked Hermione firmly. "Is this one of those vortexes of natural power Harriet told me about?"

"Yes, but it's far more than that" Lily quirked. "After all, this is the only place I could appear in this form. I like it, you know ... I can touch and feel, all my senses work as they should. It's like being alive again."

"Is this somewhere special then?" asked Hermione. "I mean, other than being in the heart of a magical forest?"

"Of course," Lily smiled. "Let me formally receive you ... Welcome, Hermione, to my Alchemist's Cell."


	21. Year Zero

“I still don’t get it,” Neville moaned. “How can the Room of Requirement have an _acceptable use clause?”_

Harry frowned back at him. “I don’t know, mate, I didn’t make the rules.”

“I think, what it means,” Luna offered serenely. “Is that the room cant be used if it contradicts _another_ reason the room has been used for.”

“What does that mean?” Neville queried.

“Well, remember when we used it for the DA?” Luna asked, to which Neville nodded in reply. “Harry asked for a safe place for us to train and practice, didn’t he? Well, Professor Umbridge could have just come here and asked the room to reveal itself to her. But it wouldn’t, because Harry asked the room to keep it secret. It wasn't until Cho's friend told on us that we were found out.”

“Oh, I get it now,” Harry replied. “So, if my Mum wanted to keep her Alchemy Cell a secret, even the Room of Requirement wouldn’t show us it’s location, because she built it in to the enchantment.”

“Exactly,” Luna smiled back. “You couldn’t find the Chamber of Secrets from here for the same reason. If it’s meant to be secret, it will stay that way.”

“Unless the person who holds the secret tells it to you,” Harry mused. “What is it with secrets in the magical world? There are so many. It’s really quite annoying.”

Harry fumed in his frustration and sat down. Neville was over at a window of the round tower, looking down at the Quidditch pitch and chuckling to himself at the first-years in one of their flying lessons, remembering his own early encounters with magical broomsticks. His amusement eased some of Harry’s bad mood, after the day’s discovery that the room that he thought could do _everything_ , did actually have some limitations.

Which irritated the hell out of him.

Harry flicked his eyes over at Luna, who was standing at another window. She, too, was casting glances at the Quidditch pitch every now and then, but her reason was far different. She was using it as a frame of reference, then transplanting her ideas onto the canvas in front of her in magical paint. Harry watched her awhile, mesmerised by the image as Luna set it to motion.

He got up and moved to her. “Wow, Luna. That’s really good, you know.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Luna beamed up at him. “I’m painting _you_ , during one of your famous victories. Not one against _Ravenclaw_ , of course, but I haven’t decided who the other team will be yet.”

Harry looked at the canvas, and the very life-like image of the Quidditch stadium, with the Gryffindor team practising with the Quaffle, while a miniature Harry zoomed around the fifty-foot posts in pursuit of an even tinier Snitch, which caught the light every now and then in flashes of gold. Harry wondered if his painted self would ever catch it.

“I don’t suppose it much matters which team you paint now, Lu,” Neville offered glumly. “This time tomorrow, there will only be _one team_ , after all.”

Harry bristled at that. The poster was still in his mind, as it was clearly on Neville’s. There had been a message pinned to the Common Room Noticeboard that morning, informing them that there would be a special assembly before dinner, where the traditional Houses of Hogwarts would be officially disbanded. All students were required to make their House robes available for collection by the house-elves, who would burn them on a ceremonial bonfire, to mark the transition into what was being dubbed the _NMO_ \- or, New Magical Order.

Harry felt a roiling sickness every time someone even _mentioned_ the acronym.

“Do you miss it, Harry?” Luna asked, closing one eye and holding up a fan brush, as she considered the perspective in her painting.

“Hmm?” Harry queried. He hadn’t really been listening.

“Quidditch? Do you miss it?”

“Yeah, I suppose I do,” Harry replied after thinking a moment. “I love to fly, and I think I miss _that_ as much as the game. But, yeah, I miss it.”

“Maybe we could go to the Fizzick Alley aerodrome one day,” Luna suggested. “My Mum used to take me there when I was little.”

“You still _are_ little!” Neville quirked with a grin.

“Okay, _littler_ , then,” Luna replied.

“What is that aerodrome place?” Harry went on. “I’ve not heard of it before.”

“It’s a big indoor Quidditch Centre, on one of the other streets near Diagon Alley,” Luna explained. “That’s where _I_ learned to fly.”

Harry felt a little dopey at the revelation. “How do I not know about these places? Have I just been living in a Hogwarts-shaped bubble for six years?”

“Probably,” Neville teased. “Don’t feel bad, Harry. My Gran never took me to the aerodrome, either.”

Harry smirked at him. “That’s probably for the best, mate. I’ve _seen_ you on a broom. Lets just say that it's not your strongest suit!”

“Go stick your man-wand in a meat grinder!” Neville fired back with a laugh. “Speaking of missing things, I hope you’ve painted a mini-Hermione in there somewhere, Luna. It just wouldn’t be a Gryffindor Quidditch match if the Home Team’s Seeker didn’t have his number one fan in the stands. She’s usually setting fire to teachers, so make sure you put Snape in there somewhere, too. I think he’d make quite effective kindling!”

“And a popular choice, too,” Harry quipped. “I wonder if I can persuade Dobby to throw old _Snivellus_ onto the bonfire with all the robes tonight.”

“Harry!” Luna admonished, doing a frighteningly accurate imitation of Hermione. “You cant ask your house-elf to commit murder!”

“It was just a joke, Luna.”

“I don’t think _murder_ is a joke,” Luna returned seriously. “Even for the bad people in the world. If we start thinking that killing people is _funny_ , we become as bad as _them_.”

Luna nodded out of the window, back to the Quidditch pitch. The first-year fliers had been chased off, and were scurrying back towards the castle like frightened little mice. In their place, three rows of slate-grey jump-suited students were carrying out an exercise drill. They might as well have been in a military cadet boot camp, for that was the impression that hit Harry the hardest.

And he didn’t like what _that_ suggested one little bit.

“It’s starting already, isn’t it?” Neville whispered darkly, coming up on Harry’s shoulder.

“It started a long time ago,” Harry retorted grimly. “This is the next phase, the future. It’s what they’ll have us all doing before long. I just hope Hermione is safer, wherever she is. _Have_ you painted her, Luna? I could _really_ do with seeing her face just now.”

“She’s in there somewhere,” Luna smiled back. "But it’s _tiny Hermione_. Let me show you another one I did of her.”

Luna crossed the Art Room, where they were holed up after the Room of Requirement disappointment, and began flicking through a series of box files containing the art work of the students who attended this class. Harry read some of the names, was hit with alternating bursts of pity and anger as he saw names of students who were now missing from Hogwarts, then just waited as Luna recovered her own file.

She reached inside, took out a little postcard-sized picture, and handed it to Harry. And he promptly lost his breath.

For it _was_ Hermione! It was so perfectly like her that it might have been a photograph. It was intricately detailed, right down to the cute freckles at her hairline, where she’d caught too much sun. It was amazing, and Harry’s heart hammered hard for his absent girlfriend as he tenderly stroked her frame.

“This is _incredible_ , Luna!” Harry breathed reverently. “Why didn’t you ever say you were so talented?”

“You never asked, Harry,” Luna replied sweetly, that unerring skill - of making him feel awkward for his own social shortcomings - alive and well under her words.

“Well, you could have told _me!”_ Harry pointed out, fairly.

“I could have, yes,” Luna pondered dreamily. “But would you have wanted to know? I’m not sure you would have.”

“Of course I would have,” Harry retorted, stung.

“You didn’t want to knit elf hats when Hermione asked you to,” Luna replied, unwittingly cleaving Harry’s heart again. “If you weren’t interested in what your best friend at the time wanted to do, I don’t really think you’d have been interested in my painting, would you?”

She didn’t mean to cut Harry so, and she didn’t sound in the slightest bit offended that he wouldn’t have taken an interest in her extra-curricular work, but Harry felt a horrible excuse for a friend just the same. His insides squirmed and coiled with the guilt.

“How did you know about the elf hats?” asked Harry, groping for a change of subject to ease his shame.

“Oh, well, I saw your elf wearing some last year,” Luna replied brightly. “I liked them, I thought I might like to have one myself, you know. So I asked your elf who had made them, and he told me that Hermione knitted them all, but that she wanted _you_ to help her, only you wouldn’t, and she was really quite sad about that. And so was your elf, because having something made for him personally by Harry Potter would have made his _life_ , made him the happiest elf who ever lived. But you didn’t, so he wasn’t, and he was just as sad as Hermione for a little while. You _could_ have made him a hat, Harry. It would have been nice of you. I think I would have, if it was me.”

Harry felt like a cold fist had closed around his heart. He had to sit down before the misery made him fall down. He was a terrible person. A greedy, savage little creature who was far more self-absorbed than he’d ever realised. He was so obsessed with himself he hadn’t even _noticed_ that he was. That was a horrible thing to think about himself.

“Why do people like me?” Harry moaned, massaging his chest to ease the stabbing ache that had developed there. “I’m just the _biggest_ arsehole!”

“No, you aren’t!” Luna giggled supportively, as Neville nodded in teasing agreement with Harry just behind her. “You’re a good person.”

Harry snorted at her. “The next time I look in a mirror I’m going to be thinking about everything you just said. Trust me, it wont be a _good person_ looking back. It will be an arsehole.”

Neville was weak with laughter in the background and had to support himself against the windowsill. Luna gave him a pitying sort of look, then turned back to Harry.

“ _She_ doesn’t think you’re … one of those _things_ … Mummy told me not to swear, you know, so I wont say it,” Luna began, pointing down at the picture in Harry’s hand, which was nodding in vehement agreement. “And neither do I. How about this - instead of a mirror, why don’t you let me paint you? Then _it_ can show you that you're a good person, too. I quite like doing portraits. I think I might go and work for the Chocolate Frog Card Company after Hogwarts, painting the little cards.”

“They’d be lucky to have you,” Harry replied fiercely, which caused Luna to blush.

Just then, Neville came over to them. He had stopped giggling like a sodding schoolgirl, which pleased Harry, but his bizarre expression made him very curious. For his eyes were alight with zeal and fervour.

“What is it?” Harry queried.

“Luna … these _portraits_ ,” Neville began. “Do their subjects … I mean … can they _move?_ You know, like in other magical pictures … from place to place?”

“Yes, I suppose they could,” Luna pondered. “There’s a special chemical solution that has to be added to allow them to enter other pictures, in case they are in a different medium, you know - you wouldn’t want a watercolour person thinning down an oil painting, would you? And then there is an enchantment that breaks down the borders of the picture frame. And then the painting has to be added to the Hub Stone.”

“What’s that?” asked Harry.

“Oh, you know, one of the Standing Stones of Hogwarts,” Luna replied simply, as though she were just telling them what day it was.

Harry and Neville gawked at each other in astonishment.

“There are _standing stones_ at Hogwarts?” Harry breathed.

“Of course,” Luna smiled. “How else do you think all the tracking charms, and magical barriers and things are rooted?”

Harry hadn’t _really_ thought about this at all. He tried to now, but he felt as if his brain was several years out of date. “And these stones connect all the portraits together?”

“ _One_ of them does, yes,” Luna confirmed.

"How do you know all this?" Harry asked, wondering if this was one of Luna's flights of fancy again.

" _Hogwarts: A History_ , of course," Luna replied brightly. "It's all in there."

Harry decided, there and then, that _one day_ he was going to get around to reading that damned book!

“Where is this ring of stones then?” Neville asked, equally as baffled as Harry by the revelation.

“In caverns under the Great Lake,” Luna revealed. “It’s the central location of the grounds of Hogwarts. Besides, the school already has dozens of hidden chambers under it already, doesn’t it?”

“It does?” Harry replied, slightly dazed.

“Oh yes. You have the Chamber of Secrets, that place they hid the Philosopher's Stone - I wonder if they ever covered up the hole on the Third Floor for that? I keep meaning to look, but I always forget.”

Harry and Neville looked at each other as an idea broke in their minds at the same time. The Third Floor … the trapdoor … a way into the subterranean labyrinth _beneath_ the school …

Who knows _what_ might hiding down there?

But Neville was not the sort of boy who could hold two excellent schemes in his mind at once, so he parked that one for now, and turned to Luna again.

“So, you _could_ make the people you paint _leave_ pictures?” he pressed. “You know how to do it?”

“Yes,” Luna nodded.

“How long would it take?”

“Not long,” Luna mused. “But we’d have to get the ingredients to make the potion first. Some are very rare, I think only Professor Snape would have them, though Professor Sprout _might_ have a few in the Greenhouses. But it would take about a week, once we started brewing. Then, of course, you’d have to link them to the Standing Stones.”

“But could you link two just to _each other_?”

Harry’s eyes and ears lit up at that. He looked at Neville like he’d sprouted a second head - a better, prettier head at that. He snapped his own back to Luna.

“Could you? Could you do that, Lu?”

“Oh _that_ , yes that’s easy,” Luna sang breezily. “People do it all the time, for marriage lockets with portraits in and things. Why … _oh_ , I get it now! You want to me to do a portrait of _Harry_ … that he can send to _Hermione_! Then they will be able to talk to each other!”

“Have I ever told you you’re a genius, Luna?” Harry beamed.

“No, but thank you,” Luna smiled serenely.

“So, can you do it?” Harry insisted.

“I can,” Luna beamed. She stood up, placed a chair at the centre of the Art Studio, and invited Harry to sit, as she arranged a fresh easel and added globs of paint to her large, kidney-shaped palette.

“Right then,” Neville announced. “I’m going to leave you to it. I’m going to hit the books, try and find the ingredients to this potion we need, maybe see if Sprout wants to be generous. Harry, I think we might have to leave stealing from Snape to you.”

“Now you’re just playing to my hobbies, Nev!” Harry chuckled.

“Right, have fun you two. I’m going to go, just in case this becomes a _nude_ painting class, for extra authenticity!”

“ _Wand Envy_ is a terrible affliction, Longbottom, a terrible affliction!” Harry teased, as Neville left them with a hearty chuckle.

* * *

Hermione walked around and around the forest clearing. She might have been here for hours, days even. Time itself didn’t seem to have a place here. It was just Hermione, and this image of Lily Potter that Hermione still couldn’t quite grasp the nature of.

“I don’t understand,” Hermione frowned again. “How can _this_ be your Alchemist’s Cell? It doesn’t make _sense_.”

“Oh, my girl, it really _does_ ,” Lily smiled. “But it’s not the kind of sense you prefer, that’s why you are having such a hard time grasping this most basic of concepts.”

Hermione wasn’t sure if that was an insult or not, so she planted her hands on her hips until Lily laughed deeply at her pouting and offered an explanation.

“You like things _just so_ ,” Lily began gently. “Rules, and structure, things you can grab hold of and follow. You are logical to the point of _unimaginative_. And, like a mathematician trying to create a formula to explain _laughter_ , you are finding yourself outside your comfort zone. You cant understand _this_ , but you know it exists - as you’re inside it - and it frustrates you.”

“I suppose I see your point,” Hermione huffed. “I think I just expected more of a _lab_ , or something.”

“And this can _become_ such a place, if I want it to,” Lily explained. “But this is _magical alchemy_ , not chemistry. And the art is wrapped in symbolism, wreathed in allegory, decipherable and gibberish at the same time. But the _root_ is constant, and obvious to those who know how to read the code.”

“So, you’re saying I _cant_ read the code?”

“No, not unless you free your brilliant mind from the chains that bind it,” Lily went on.

Hermione frowned crossly. “Okay, give it to me in terms I _can_ understand, then. If it’s a puzzle, give me a key to work with.”

“Okay. Try to see this as _my_ space, where all my esoteric work took place,” Lily began. “There was as much _spiritual_ work being done as actual _physical_ transformation. Could I create gold from tin? Of course. Could I create a Philosopher's Stone? With enough time, I _could_. But living forever was never in my thinking. This was as much about exploring the _internal_ as it was anything else."

“ _Ah_!” Hermione breathed as the first spark of understanding struck her. “So, this was like a _meditative_ space … or a _ritual circle_! One you carried around _inside_ you and could be opened when you needed it!”

“Very good,” Lily beamed at her. “The secrets of alchemy are very vast, often dangerous, but _always_ personal and intimate. What will be the alchemical journey of one wizard might be completely different from the next witch who tries it. Such is the nature of life. No two journeys to true enlightenment are ever the same.”

“But the Stone? And gold?”

“Pilfering by-products that have no value in the grander scheme of things,” Lily dismissed. “Will gold help me where I am, where commercialism and avarice do not exist? Will a cure for any illness be of use in a place where I cannot get sick?”

Hermione blinked in surprise. “I … I hadn’t really thought of it like that.”

“Few do,” Lily smiled kindly. “They think of the earthly benefits, the Lower Work. Very few ascend to the Higher Work, which is infinitely more rewarding.”

“Like you?”

“Like me,” Lily confirmed. “My life was taken from me, before I could ever truly finish the work I started. But I did enough to give me this space, which has allowed me to continue in my afterlife. And now, it allows me to come to you.”

“To do _what_ , exactly?”

“To help my son, who I know means as much to you as he does to me.”

Hermione and Lily shared a knowing smile, the truth reflected in the expression of the other.

“What I need _you_ to tell me is how best I can do that,” Lily went on. “What do you need from me?”

Hermione thought about that a moment until the answer came to her.

“Dumbledore. He is playing a devious game and neither Harry nor I can work it out,” Hermione blurted out. “What dealings did _you_ have with him? Anything might help.”

Lily sat down on a wide tree stump and fixed Hermione with a serious stare. “James and I both had a _complicated_ relationship with Albus Dumbledore,” she began lowly. “James was never comfortable with the level of interest Albus showed in my alchemy, and I was never about to give away my secrets to _him_. I wouldn’t even have told them to my _husband_.”

“But Dumbledore tried to force them from you?” Hermione pressed, suddenly understanding.

Lily nodded. “He was always pestering me about them, but twice we almost _came to wands_ over it. That led to James and I deciding to defy him for a _third_ time by refusing his offer to be our Secret Keeper, when it became clear that Lord Voldemort would target families with magical children born at the end of July.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Dumbledore was after something, we were convinced of that,” Lily explained. “He took an obsessive fascination with James’ Invisibility Cloak. James let him have it, just to take his mind off hounding _me_. But he wouldn’t tell us why. Then he heard the Prophecy, and told us only that our newborn son might be in danger. He didn’t tell us any more details than that.

“Because of his coyness, we suspected duplicity. We gave him the choice - tell us _everything_ about the Prophecy, or we will choose another Secret Keeper. Dumbledore refused. Three weeks later and Peter Pettigrew sold us out. To this day James is convinced Dumbledore was involved somewhere.”

Hermione gasped in shock. “Dumbledore … _involved_ … but why?”

“We have no solid facts, only guesses,” Lily continued. “But James never believed Peter ratted on us, forgive the pun. Peter was many things - a coward, a runt, a gambler who liked Firewhiskey and _Witches of the Night_ a bit more than he should. He spent far too much time, and gold, under the red lights of Immore Alley, if you get my point. But he was always _loyal_. To James and Sirius in particular. And never even _hinted_ at having a darker side. No, there was another force at play during those events, and James is convinced Dumbledore’s hand was guiding the marionette somewhere.”

“But you don’t know why?”

“Getting the truth from Dumbledore is like trying to get blood from the Philosopher's Stone!” Lily quirked.

“But, Mrs Potter -”

“ _Lily_ , I absolutely insist!”

“Okay … _Lily,_ ” Hermione conceded, colouring slightly. “You said Harry’s dad thought Dumbledore was involved … but could you tell me what _you_ think? I’d really like to know.”

“I think that, once Voldemort had ripped out Harry's soul as part of the Horcrux creation ritual, that Albus Dumbledore wanted to plant his soul into _my son,”_ Lily stated bluntly.

Hermione was sure her heart stopped a moment. Her breathing certainly did.

“Sorry, but could you say that _again_?” Hermione hushed.

“I’d rather _not_ ,” Lily fired back, darkly. “But I can explain it.”

“Please do!” Hermione cried.

“Albus Dumbledore was already over one hundred years old when Harry was born,” Lily began. “He was ageing, his body was failing, and he is the most arrogant man I’ve ever met. So self-assured of his own omnipotence that it’s as irritating as pubic lice. He fears death, hates the idea of it, because he cant envisage a lifestyle scenario that doesn’t involve him basking in his own wonderfulness.”

“ _Ah_ … that actually makes _sense_!” Hermione exclaimed. “ _That’s_ why he wanted to make Horcruxes!”

“You know about the Horcruxes?” Lily asked, surprised. “Wonderful. That saves me about half the speech I had planned! But yes, that was his goal. To live forever and infect successive generations with his own questionable brand of brilliance. But then the Prophecy came along, and he had a new problem.”

“Which was?”

“The Prophecy predicted the arrival of someone who could defeat the Dark Lord mentioned ... and that could have meant _either_ Tom Riddle … or _himself_.”

“Of course, I forgot that!” Hermione yelped, slapping herself forcefully on her forehead. Then she gasped in understanding. “So _that’s_ why James suspects him. _You_ defied him _three times_ , just like the Prophecy said!”

“You really are frighteningly clever,” Lily beamed in admiration. “I hope my Harry knows that, too.”

“He does, he tells me all the time,” Hermione smiled simply. “But, Dumbledore - what would lead you to think he would want to be, essentially, _reincarnated_ in Harry?”

“Because it would solve several of Dumbledore’s problems in one stroke,” Lily explained. “The most basic benefit would be having a new body. A young, fresh vessel to inhabit. He would have Fawkes as his second vessel, and he could have just lived as a Phoenix merely for the experience of it, until Harry was old enough physically for Dumbledore to begin to wield influence over.

“Secondly, he could take a two-pronged approach to the Prophecy. If _Riddle_ was the Dark Lord mentioned, Dumbledore would have a fresh body, dual powered with his own skill and the natural magic born into Harry, to fight him with. And, if _Albus_ turned out to be Trelawney’s Dark Lord, he’d be safe in Harry’s body, too.”

“As he wouldn’t likely kill himself,” Hermione nodded as comprehension settled on her. “But what about the part that said neither could live while the other survives?”

“Fulfilled, as Voldemort would have _killed_ Harry’s soul, in order to make room and allow Dumbledore to inhabit his body.”

Hermione’s lip trembled at the very concept of _Harry Killed_. It shook her deeply, as if every particle of her being was being pinched by electric ice.

“So, what’s Dumbledore’s Big Plan now, do you think?” Hermione asked quietly.

“This is what we have to find out,” Lily smiled. “And we will do it together.”

“How do we start?” asked Hermione.

“You have a knowledge of Ancient Runes from Hogwarts?” Lily asked, to which Hermione nodded the affirmative. “That’s a start. Runes are the _language_ of alchemy. And that’s what we are going to teach you. If you want to know how to thwart Dumbledore, you first need to know what drives him in the first place.”

“I’m ready,” Hermione announced firmly. “Let’s begin.”

* * *

Harry and Luna entered the Great Hall and both lost their breath in a sweep of anger. The destruction of the house tables was complete, and twenty-four rows of individual pews now occupied the space, divided precisely in two blocks either side of a wide aisle in the middle. Harry felt his anger roll around his skull as he looked up at the enchanted ceiling, which was now a vast green moon, and on the floor - a _black sun_ , with it’s coal-toned inky rays crackling away between the flagstones.

It was like something out of a nightmare.

At that moment, Ginny Weasley passed them, her arm around some Seventh Year boy that Harry didn’t know. He leant down and whispered something into Ginny’s ear, which made her giggle shrilly and use her hand to fan her cheeks theatrically.

“Ooh, let me catch my breath!” she swooned tauntingly, as Harry and Luna drew level with them.

“Do you want to? It fucking _stinks!”_ Harry spat back nastily, then guided Luna towards Neville, as Ginny glared angrily at his departing form.

“I hope you have your marshmallows ready, Scarhead,” Malfoy sneered as he purposely sat in the row in front. “Going to be a _lot_ of toasting going on tonight.”

“Pity we cant stick a pointy skewer up _your_ arse and put you on the bonfire, too,” Neville cut in acridly. “Nevermind, I’m sure if you ask Genital Crabbe and the Gar-Goyle here _very nicely_ , they might spit-roast you later back in your dorm.”

“You better watch your mouth, Longbottom!” Malfoy snapped back.

“Same to you,” Neville returned smoothly. “Out of curiosity, which tiny cock would you prefer to wrap your tongue round, out of those two? Choose now, before you gag on the wrong one later!”

“Shut it!” Malfoy growled, as Harry tried not to wet himself with his laughter.

“Or what?” Neville funned. “I’m sat here with _Harry Potter_! I’m pretty sure he’ll have my back, if you and the chuckle-brothers try to get rowdy.”

“Damn right I will!” Harry exclaimed fiercely. “Turn your ugly face back round, Bridgette Neilson wannabe, before you turn my stomach!”

Malfoy gave Harry one last, dagger-laden stare, before snapping his head back around, as Harry and Neville nodded to each other at a job well done.

It took about fifteen minutes for everyone to file in. The stark reality of the _relocations_ became very clear now, as the Hall was at least a third less populated than it would normally have been. Harry ground his jaw roughly, as he wondered where the others had gone, Ron among them, and whether there was _any_ chance that they might still be alive.

He swallowed bitterly as he thought … _probably not_.

Once everyone was seated, Dumbledore rose to address the room. When he spoke, his eyes were utterly blank and lifeless, his words monotonous, mechanical, as if memorised and recited now. He was reading from a script, Harry was convinced of that. The Dumbledore _he_ knew, even this confusing current incarnation, would never have said such things so easily.

“Tonight, students of Hogwarts, we usher in a bright, new era,” Dumbledore began solemnly. “Tonight, we sweep away the old, and begin again. _Year Zero ..._ of the New Magical Order. No longer will we obsess about the past, yearn for the ancient, and vaunt the archaic. From today, we look only in _one_ direction, to _one_ future ... one with _zero_ limitations, _zero_ restrictions on possibility.

“It is a future for _you_! And it is a torch I pass with hope, and with joy.”

Then Dumbledore conjured a flaming sconce with his wand, walked sadly to the huge mountain of robes, and flags, and Quidditch jerseys at the centre of the Hall … flicked an almost _apologetic_ look directly into Harry’s eyes … then set the whole thing alight. 


	22. Plan B

As the old kettle whistled shrilly on the fire, Hermione stood up to finish making the tea. Enola and Celesca, who were sat in the chalet with her, kept throwing her pained looks, saying very little, and simply wondering how to make conversation when such a horrific event had taken place in her life.

It was a mistaken understanding that Hermione was determined to correct with these two at once.

For she had decided she needed peers to confide in. Lily Potter had been in agreement about that. Whatever Dumbledore’s scheme was, Hermione had little hope of unravelling or thwarting it on her own. She felt reasonably sure that Harry would be working to understand things just as much as she was, and she trusted Dumbledore to slip up or underestimate _him_ in much the same way he had with her. And Hermione knew her boyfriend would be all over the error like a bout of Spattergoit. So she had to be his equal on _this_ side of the plot.

Enola and Celesca were blissfully unaware that Hermione was about to recruit them to Team Potter, and she blithely wondered what they would think about it when she told them. She had thought to call it Team _Granger-Potter_ , but as Lily was involved she was outvoted. In any case, it allowed Hermione to pretend to have taken Harry’s surname already, without him being around to get totally freaked out by the suggestion and possibly throw himself from the Astronomy Tower in his panic.

Hermione grinned to herself as she pictured the scene, and the terrified look on Harry’s face, as she poured the tea. Then she turned to her guests, whose expressions were far more grave and serious.

It was Enola who took the gauntlet first. “How are you feeling, Hermione? I cant even _imagine_ what’s going through your head right now. We’re here for you, just know that.”

“Thank you,” Hermione smiled. “Sugar?”

“Just one,” Enola replied, throwing a confused look to Celesca at Hermione’s calm demeanour.

“Are … are you alright?” Celesca chanced, pulling her hood back. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

“Just take tea with me,” Hermione replied, passing Celesca a steaming mug.

“Is that it? Don’t you want to talk … about what happened?”

“In good time,” Hermione smiled, taking a seat near the fire.

“You could be in shock,” Enola announced decisively. “Truly, Hermione, it’s okay to talk about him … about _Harry._ ”

“Yes, it really is,” Celesca nodded next to her. “You have to grieve. I wish I could give you some comfort, but I’m a Seer, not a clairvoyant. But you might find it will help if you can just talk about this terrible, terrible loss. Oh how you must be suffering!”

“Yes, about that,” Hermione began. She looked around the chalet, then leaned in close as if she was going to tell the girls a secret. “These chalets … are they safe? Are they _private_? I have something to tell you, and I’d rather not have any prying ears hear it, too.”

Enola drew her wand, and flicked a Secrecy Charm at the door in Welsh. Then she turned back to Hermione.

“They are now. Go on … open up to us.”

Hermione took a steadying breath and looked at each of the others in turn. “It’s about Harry … he _isn’t_ dead.”

Enola was held in almost comic freeze-frame at this disclosure, her teacup halfway between its saucer and her mouth. Celesca just blinked in confusion.

“What? But my Dad … he was quite certain. He even had Harry’s _glasses_.”

“I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense right now,” Hermione answered. “I don’t even understand it all myself. That’s why I’ve asked you here - I need your help, ladies.”

Enola scoffed good-humouredly. “I don’t think you know me very well, to call me a _lady_!”

“That may be true, but _I_ also know my own father,” Celesca frowned. “I know he’s involved in a lot of secret activity, but he wouldn’t lie to you like that. Not about something like this. He isn’t that cruel.”

“Relax, Celesca, your father’s sincerity isn’t on trial here,” Hermione placated. “I think he genuinely believes what he told me. But _I_ know that it isn’t true.”

“How?” asked Enola.

Hermione fixed her with a firm stare. “I cant tell you that just now. It’s a secret too dangerous for me to share. I know I’m asking for a massive leap of faith, but I’m begging with you to trust me for now. There is no direct danger to anything here, if that makes you feel any better. But this source of knowledge has to stay between me and … well, _her …_ until it’s safe enough for me to share it.”

“You had an experience with something … in the Venusian Forest,” Celesca stated bluntly.

“I’d rather you didn’t read my mind,” Hermione huffed, turning her gaze on the Seer.

“It’d be easier if you didn’t make you mind so open and obvious,” Celesca returned evenly. “I’m right though, aren’t I?”

Hermione puffed out a frustrated breath. “Okay, _yes_. But I’m not going to go into any detail with you about it, so don’t ask.”

“So that’s where you’ve been for the last five days!” Enola cried incredulously. “We thought you were just locked in here in the throes of grief! But instead, you were out in the woods.”

“ _Five days!”_ Hermione hushed in shocked reply. “I thought it had only been a few _hours!_ ”

“No, half the estate has been here trying to get you to open up,” Enola explained. “If you hadn’t answered us today we had instructions to break the door down!”

“Oh dear,” Hermione whined guiltily. “I had no idea.”

“Then there is nothing to feel bad about,” Celesca soothed. “It isn’t your fault, if you didn’t know.”

“No,” Enola agreed. “So, what happened? What _can_ you tell us?”

“Not too much, and the only important thing is that Harry is alive,” Hermione replied.

“Then let’s start with that,” said Celesca. “Why would my Dad say that Harry had been killed, if it wasn’t true?”

“And what makes you think Lord Roth believes his own words?” Enola tagged on.

“I think he’s been cursed,” Hermione blurted out. “Someone wants me to believe Harry is dead, and they have used Lord Roth to give me the information.”

“But why?” Enola pushed.

“That’s what I need to find out,” Hermione replied. “And that’s where I need _you_ , girls.”

“How can we help?”

Hermione turned to Celesca, who had asked the question. “I’m assuming you didn’t sense any duplicity from your father, when he told me about Harry?”

“No, none,” Celesca confirmed.

“As I expected,” Hermione nodded. “So it’s important that the messenger believes what he’s telling me, even to dupe _you_ , Celesca. Whoever wants us to believe Harry had died, knew that it had to be convincing enough to even circumvent the skills of a powerful Seer.”

“But who would want to do that?” asked Enola.

“Albus Dumbledore,” Hermione and Celesca chorused in response. They shared a grin as they did.

“The Headmaster?” Enola gasped. “But why?”

”I don’t know,” Hermione frowned. “But it's becoming clearer to me now that Dumbledore wants to keep me and Harry apart for some reason. I have to think it is detrimental to his plans if I can offer Harry support and counsel. Celesca - you said you managed to unearth a bit of Dumbledore’s scheme. Do you have _any_ idea why he would want to separate me and Harry?”

Celesca blinked those astonishing swirly blue pupils at Hermione a moment, causing her to feel compelled to look away. The Seer’s unusual eyes made Hermione feel like she was being x-rayed.

Then Celesca nodded grimly. “I do … in fact, I have _two_ possible reasons for it. And I feel you will dislike them in equal proportion.”

“Okay,” Hermione scowled. “Let’s take one at a time. Tell me the one that will annoy me the least.”

“That would be Dumbledore’s _initial_ plan,” Celesca began. “When he first came here, to offer my Mum the Defence job at Hogwarts, he wasn’t nearly so guarded around me. I don’t think he understood, then, that my Seer skills included psychic abilities, too. I read him like a book.”

“And what did that book say?”

“That his intention in recruiting my mother was to get to _me_ ,” Celesca spat back. “He wanted to use my Seer power, to find this Alchemist’s Cell and use it for … for …”

Her voice tailed off in her anxiety at the thought. Hermione reached over and squeezed her forearm comfortingly.

“It’s okay … I know what he wanted to use it for.”

Celesca looked wide-eyed at that. “You _do_? Did this _source_ tell you?”

Hermione nodded in confirmation. “You don’t need to worry about that anymore. Harry and I will take care of _that_. Just tell me about Dumbledore.”

“Well, do you remember when I said that _you_ are this ' _power that he knows not'?_ ” Celesca continued. Hermione nodded that she did. “What I meant by that, I think, is that you can bring this power out in Harry, and it will stop him doing what Dumbledore wants.”

“Which is?”

“Delivering what he believes is a _Greater Good_ to the world … by exposing magic to them,” Celesca explained. “The worrying part is that Dumbledore _thinks_ he’s doing this divine work … but he _really_ isn’t. He’s doing _his own_.”

“What does that mean?” asked Enola.

“Dumbledore thinks magic can help improve the world, and the lives of people in it,” Celesca continued. “But like a lot of magicals, he truly believes in the superiority of magic over Muggle. His idea of _improving_ their lives is to take over them, and force them to live under magic … whether they want to or not. He doesn’t think they are clever enough to know what’s best for themselves, and he will _enforce_ a magical life on them if he can, as he thinks it will be for their own good.”

“Then he’s not much better than Lord Voldemort,” Hermione whispered in horror.

“In many ways, he’s actually _worse_ ,” Celesca replied grimly. “Voldemort preys on insecurities, on the weak and vulnerable and power-hungry. But there will always be resistance to that. Dumbledore has painted himself as the wise-old sage … and he seeks to change hearts and minds for good. People wont be able to see his doctrine is just as absurd as Voldemort’s … but if he gets people to believe it, you cant even begin to imagine the atrocities they will commit in his name.”

Hermione sucked in a sharp, shocked breath. “You’ve … _Seen_ it? Haven’t you?”

Celesca gave a shuddering nod. “I’ve seen what will happen if Dumbledore succeeds. I saw it both in his mind - as a sick fantasy - and as a possible future.”

“A _possible_ future? Then it can be stopped?”

“Of course,” Celesca returned brightly. “My visions show lots of outcomes, lay out possibilities. All that we want to happen is possible …. but all that we _fear_ is _also_ possible. Our choices and actions will decide how the future plays out.”

“And, so, Dumbledore is working towards this future?” asked Enola.

“Of course!” Hermione suddenly exclaimed. “ _That’s_ why he is turning a blind eye to Voldemort’s power grab! He wants him to lay the ground work … do much of his dirty work for him!”

“And that is _central_ to his own plans,” Celesca added. “Dumbledore’s huge weakness is that he cant commit these offences himself. He is terrified of what will happen if he does. He is susceptible to the pull of easy power - my Dad told me that - and he simply cant allow himself to become a full Dark Lord, to incur the enemies that will amass against him. He must forever remain a smiling assassin, without ever getting blood on his hands. That’s where your _Harry_ comes in.”

Hermione felt her heart begin a violent tattoo under her chest hairs. Which reminded her … she needed to get her tweezers out once this meeting was over.

“Tell me what you know,” Hermione demanded.

“Dumbledore is 100% behind his Greater Good idea, okay?” Celesca started. “Never forget that, for _he_ never has. But he cant remove opposition to himself, on account of his _fractured soul.”_

“Before we go on, explain that to _me_ ,” Enola implored.

“Professor Dumbledore inadvertently split his soul, by accidentally killing his sister,” Hermione explained, which drained any colour from Enola’s flawlessly porcelain complexion. “He meant to kill a _goat_ , but the soul-splitting was completely intentional, even if the death _needed_ for it wasn’t the one he wanted.”

“Well, I didn’t know _that_ bit,” Celesca added, deeply revolted by the details. “But I knew he’d damaged his soul. The damage is so great that it has robbed him of much of his morality. It could be why he cant see the error in what he’s doing now, but I doubt it. It is his central drive … I think he’s _always_ been this ruthlessly ambitious.”

“But how does that link to his plan now?” asked Enola.

“Dumbledore has already experienced what happens when his thirst for power runs out of control,” Celesca went on. “It split his soul, which he sees now was a mistake. Part of his plan is to try and _fix_ that mistake, but just so that he has enough power to control the only person who poses a _genuine_ threat to that agenda.”

Celesca looked pointedly at Hermione, who gasped in response.

“Me? But how -”

“Because of the powerful and positive influence you can wield over Harry,” Celesca cut across brusquely. “I don’t know how Harry comes into this, other than that Dumbledore sees him as the _instrument_ by which he can carry out this Greater Good agenda, without further tainting his own soul or reputation.”

“So he wants _Harry_ to do his dirty work for him, once Voldemort is out of the way!” Hermione cried. “Is that what you’re suggesting?”

“That would be my guess,” Celesca confirmed. “Bizarrely, if it wasn’t for this current situation, Dumbledore’s entire focus would be on his plans for Harry. It wouldn’t surprise me if Harry’s first use as Dumbledore’s _weapon_ would be to get rid of the rival Dark Lord.”

“And Harry wouldn’t think to question it, would he?” Enola mused. “He seems to be the dashing-hero type!”

“He really is!” Hermione laughed. “And he has been in thrall to Dumbledore for years. I never thought I’d be rooting for Voldemort to beat Dumbledore … but maybe he’s the best protection Harry has right now. How perverse!”

“But you said Hermione is a threat to Dumbledore, Cesc?” Enola pressed. “How?”

“He wants to _re-fuse_ his soul,” Celesca replied. “This lost Cell is part of how he does it … but I don’t know enough to guess any further about the details. But Dumbledore knows that there is a way to split his soul in a _less Dark_ way using it. From what I know, he is vulnerable in his current state … I can only speculate that if he can split his soul in this _other_ way, he will have all the benefits of being _separated_ but without that vulnerability.”

“And if he sees that as being at his most powerful … he might want _Harry_ to do the same?” asked Enola.

“Or, maybe … do it the _Horcrux_ way … to make him too weak to resist Dumbledore’s influence,” Hermione breathed in horror. “And he’d use the murder of _Voldemort_ to split _Harry’s_ soul!”

Enola hissed in her anger. “What a complete bell-end!”

Hermione shuddered in her seat. “Harry is already moving on that path! Dumbledore has set this in motion … maybe _years_ ago!”

“The _Prophecy_?” Celesca queried. “You think, I assume, that _Dumbledore_ pre-identified Harry as the threat, then manoeuvred Voldemort towards him rather than the other candidates … to what … create a _revenge_ motive for Harry? So that he would _want_ to kill him?”

“No!” Enola cried.

“It makes sense,” Hermione argued. “Dumbledore would have known about Voldemort’s Horcruxes by then, knew he wouldn’t have been killed that night he went after Harry as a baby … which must mean he knew all about _that_ too! Ooh, I’m _so_ going to _get_ that man! Oh, Voldemort split his soul, too,” Hermione explained to Enola’s confused look. Then she turned to Celesca with a frown. “Hold on … how do _you_ know about the Prophecy?”

Celesca smirked back. “Dumbledore has the words imprinted onto his brain. It was the _first_ thing I read in that old mind of his!”

“So let me get this right,” Enola cut in, rubbing her confused skull. “Dumbledore and Voldemort both have _partial_ souls? Okay. And they both want to take over the world with magic? Check. Only Voldemort doesn’t mind the icky stuff, and Dumbledore cant do it in case anyone exposes him? Gotcha. But _Harry_ can beat them both. So Dumbledore wants to use Harry to get rid of his rival, but in doing so weaken Harry enough to control him? Is that about right?”

“That’s the gist,” Hermione smirked.

“But _you’re_ a big threat to Dumbledore because you wield a _bigger_ influence over Harry?” Enola went on. “That’s the bit I don’t get. Where do you fit in to this?”

“Celesca?” Hermione redirected. She rather wanted to know this for herself.

“Because - and I don’t know if you know this - you are Harry’s _conscience_ , his moral compass, his voice of reason,” Celesca explained. “Harry’s all heart and passion from what I’ve heard. He doesn’t think before he acts. That’s where _Hermione_ comes in. You have to slow him up, _make_ him think about what he’s doing. It may be the only way to save him. You have to _pit yourself_ directly against Dumbledore, at least in Harry’s mind, then just trust in your relationship that you would win.”

“I think I see!” Hermione exclaimed. “Harry, under Dumbledore’s guidance, has been set on a collision course with Voldemort. The murder of his parents is driving him towards that confrontation, and maybe Dumbledore is even manipulating _Voldemort_ still to bring it about! And Harry would _want_ it too! He might even have agreed to this _good_ soul-splitting thing, if Dumbledore suggested it to him. Especially if …”

 _His mother had done the same thing to save him_ …Hermione thought to herself. She felt a cold rush of anger towards Dumbledore just then. If this was true, she had to act fast. The longer Harry was away from her influence, the more danger he was in.

“Exactly,” Celesca went on. “Your sense and logic is a perfect counter-balance to Harry’s fiery spirit. He needs you so badly, to question his choices, challenge his rationale, even if it’s hard for you both to argue. Without that, Harry will rush in blindly.”

“Then we have to get Hermione _back_ to Harry!” Enola urged. “Before he does just that!”

“I actually think that would be a _more_ dangerous plan, Ennie,” Celesca replied lowly.

“Why’s that?” asked Hermione, confused.

“Because, I told you Dumbledore had developed a _second plan_ , didn’t I? A Plan B, if you like?”

“You did,” Hermione confirmed. “And you said I would like it less than the first plan. Tell me what it is.”

“Let’s just say that in this Plan B, the ‘B’ stands for _baby_ … more specifically, your and _Harry’s_ baby!”

Hermione felt the bottom drop out of her stomach, but it wasn’t in the nervous, cautiously thrilled way it had in the past, when she’d considered the possibility of children with Harry. This sensation was positively sickening.

“Dumbledore has a new plan … and it involves Harry and I having children?” Hermione breathed. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I, really,” Celesca offered apologetically. “It was just something he was thinking a lot about just before we escaped. That he could do something that involved you being _together_ , if he couldn’t keep you apart.”

“And that involved _babies_?” Enola hushed.

“Somehow, but I could only guess about how. To be honest, I think we _all_ could,” Celesca replied, darkly.

Hermione’s jaw fell open, and Lily’s words rang painfully inside her head …

 _Dumbledore wanted to plant his soul into Harry_ , she’d said _…_ but what if now … _now he might want to fulfil that plan … with THEIR first child!_

Celesca read Hermione’s mind, and nodded her understanding when their gazes met. “I know what you're thinking, but you aren't nearly angry or revolted enough. In Dumbledore's scheme, the baby might not even be _organic_. You see, he’s heavily into that sort of thing, manipulation of magical genes. It’s how my Dad first crossed paths with him again. He was going to expose him for it.”

“Why didn’t he?” Hermione asked, a feeling of reviled violation creeping over her flesh, seeping into her womb, which she cradled as if to protect it from the assault of the very _notion_ Celesca had introduced.

“They did a deal,” Celesca explained. “My Dad had to create a new identity, because some Dark Wizards were after him. Dumbledore helped him, in exchange for my Dad not exposing the genetics programme he was head of.

"But my Dad kept hold of some key files and memories, just as leverage ... in case Dumbledore double-crossed him. He’d never want that information reaching the public domain. I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard about that before … the thing Dumbledore set up. But I’ve seen the papers on it, so I know it’s all true.

“It was called _Project Horizon.”_


	23. Animal Instincts

The heavy door to the dungeon clicked shut as Harry slipped out of it. He slipped off his Invisibility Cloak and bunched it up inside his robes for safe-keeping, as he made his way along the corridor. The one thing he _hadn’t_ slipped was the cheeky note he half-wanted to leave in Snape’s Storeroom - in place of the stolen potion ingredients - that would have read something like ‘ _Cheers for the stuff Snivelly, I’ll buy you some Crisp ‘n Dry to wash your hair in, Merry Christmas from Harry’_.

But he decided that might be a _little_ too far to get away with.

Still, it made him chuckle mutinously as he hurried along past dungeons Five and Six, to number Seven at the end, where Luna and Neville were busily brewing away. This was a practice potion dungeon and Harry, like with so many aspects of his magical surroundings, had only that week learned that it was here at all. It would have been easy to blame Ron for making him so ignorant, but he’d spent just as much time with Hermione - who _must_ have known about these research rooms - so that was no excuse.

Harry sighed … turns out he really was a dunderhead after all.

He was still tittering away at his own foolishness as he entered the dungeon. Luna and Neville were hunched over a cauldron in the far corner. Harry was happy to see that Luna was in charge of the brewing, knowing just how nervous Neville tended to be whenever he was within three feet of a softly simmering solution. Watching over them was the art teacher, Professor Bobross, who Luna had sweet-talked into helping them, convincing him that it was an extra credit project to aid her regular classwork.

“Easy now, you want the stirring to be cloud-soft, barely touching, just pretend your hand is a whisper floating over the cauldron,” the Art Professor advised. He had the most soporific, calming voice Harry had ever heard. He rather thought it might be worth enrolling in the class just to hear the man chatter away.

“Like this?” Luna asked, following the instruction.

“That’s it,” Professor Bobross commented. “Remember, this cauldron is your world. You can create anything you want in here. Talk to it, make friends with it, with the happy little bubbles inside. Give them names, make up stories about them. It’s okay to be a little strange, we’re artists - people expect us to be a little different. And that’s okay.”

Neville spotted Harry at that moment and it was clear he was struggling to fight a bout of laughter just dying to explode from behind his eyes. Harry crossed the dungeon to join them.

“How’s it going?” he asked, peering into the cauldron to look at a potion that was Van Dyke Brown in colour.

“Coming along nicely,” Neville replied. “Did your … er, _delivery_ turn up?”

Harry looked confused a moment, until he caught on to Neville’s ruse. “Oh, yeah … I’ve just come from the owlery now.”

Harry fished into his robes and handed over the ingredients he had swiped from Snape’s potion store. Professor Bobross looked curiously at him.

“No packaging?” he asked.

“Oh, well, I had to open it to check I had the right stuff,” Harry invented quickly. “Then the owls nicked the box. I think they’re nesting, you know.”

“Yes, it is that time of year,” Professor Bobross agreed. “I have an owl in my home, we call him Pea Pod. We’ve built him a great big cage … we call it _Owl Hilton_. He’s just begun gathering things for a nest, too.”

“Mmm,” Harry mumbled. He turned to Luna. “So, is that everything you need?”

“For the general potion, yes,” Luna hummed back. “But then we just need to make it specific to the subjects. Oh, and we have to finish your portrait.”

“Really? I thought we were done with the painting?”

“Oh, we are, but I forgot about your scar!” Luna exclaimed. “Can you believe I forgot that! How airy of me.”

“I wish _I_ could forget it,” Harry grumbled. “But what do you mean by _make it specific?_ ”

“The subject of the portraits have to be linked to their true life counterparts, in order for the personality to be authentic,” Professor Bobross explained. “We will need something personal of yours, and of the young lady in the fine portrait Miss Lovegood here has already produced.”

“Personal? Like what? An item of clothing or something?”

“No, something more _organic._ Blood, sweat or spit are the most usual additions to the potion.”

“Eww, that’s minging!” Neville retched. “And to think … I sometimes _stroked_ the Fat Lady, trying to beg her to let me into Gryffindor Tower when I forgot the passwords. I even _kissed_ her once, I was so desperate! And all this time was I smoothing her phlegm and spittle!”

“I know you were always hopelessly looking for a date, Nev,” Harry teased. “But _swapping saliva_ with an old lady in a painting … that’s quite sad, mate!”

“Nothing wrong with a bit of magical MILF-age, Harry,” Neville retorted bracingly. “But in this case, that’s quite disgusting. I think I need a shower. In acid.”

Harry chuckled and thumped Neville consolingly on the arm. Then he frowned at Luna and Professor Bobross.

“How am I supposed to get _bodily fluids_ from Hermione?” he grumbled. “She’s not in the castle anymore.”

“She left all her cosmetics here, didn’t she?” Luna pointed out. “She left in such a hurry. She must have had lipsticks or a Chapstick or something. That might do. Or a strand of hair … she _must_ have had several combs and brushes for _her_ curly locks.”

“Yeah, yeah she did,” Harry replied lowly, his heart aching at the misery of being unable to see, or run his fingers through, Hermione’s lustrous tresses. He missed her so badly it was becoming a _physical_ pain. “Here, you can have some of mine to start with.”

Harry reached up and tugged three long strands of dark hair from his scalp, wincing slightly at the sharp shock of pain as they came free. Luna fetched an empty vial and stored them safely inside for later.

“Okay, I’ll head up and find some of Hermione’s hair,” Harry continued. “How long after that are we looking at being done?”

“Assuming the Grey Robes don’t suddenly make potion practice _another_ of their unauthorised activities, we should be ready by midnight,” Luna announced.

Harry nodded and growled at the same time. There was a more than even chance that such a thing _would_ suddenly become illegal. For the Grey Robes had already introduced a slew of new restrictive measures. Students were no longer allowed to gather in a public place in groups larger than three, all owl post had to be vetted by a senior Grey Robe before being sent, and all wands were now tested on a daily basis using _Priori Incantatem_ \- just to make sure students hadn’t been practising offensive spells in secret.

Even Wizard’s Chess had been banned. The powers in charge seemed to think that anything that encouraged military-style strategic thinking could potentially pose a violent threat to the New Magical Order.

“Alright,” Harry fumed. “I’ll head up to Gryff - well, ‘ _The North Tower’_ , now, isn’t it? You keep brewing. We’ll meet up again in a few hours.”

Harry gave Luna’s forearm an encouraging squeeze and he and Neville left her to it. They exited the dungeon and headed up into the Entrance Hall. Ginny and some of the other goons were loitering around as usual, but as Harry and Neville were making a continuation of their slanders about her bad breath, she tended to keep her mouth shut around them, which they found was a situation they could deal with quite cheerily.

They headed up the familiar staircases to the top of the Tower. Harry was glad to see that not all the portraits had been removed, as many were attached to the brickwork with Permanent Sticking Charms. It gave him a shot of hope about the durability of _some_ things at least, and felt like a sort of validation of their plan. Some things, it would seem, were just meant to last.

Harry let that hopeful thought carry him up the stairs into the Prefects rooms … where his mood suddenly nosedived into furious anger.

For there were several students in there, turning the place over.

It was Neville who reacted first, flicking an _Immobulus_ spell at two second-years who were trying to wheel a heavy trunk through the Communal Area between them. The force of the spell was so great that Harry felt his nose hairs stick on end as it passed him. It was impressive spellwork, but Harry didn’t have time to really appreciate it, for he suddenly recognised the trunk.

It was _Hermione’s_.

“What in the name of effing _Merlin_ do you think you’re doing!” Harry thundered.

But, of course, the immobilised students were unable to reply. A moment later, though, and Katie Bell bounded down the stairs from the direction of the dorm rooms themselves. She fixed Harry with a guilty, sorrowful stare.

“I’m sorry, Harry, but we have to,” Katie explained reticently. “Don’t hurt these kids, please! They’re just following instructions.”

“And what would _they_ be?” Neville asked angrily, turning his wand on Katie now. Harry was a little shocked by his furious ire.

“All the possessions, of _all_ Muggleborn students _,_ are to be confiscated,” Katie disclosed. “For inspection by the Grey Robes. In case they contain evidence of _heresy_.”

“And what do we class as _heresy_ in this case?” Harry spat. His wand was in his hand, too. He didn’t even remember how it got there, so mindless was he now.

“Harry, please, don’t make this harder than it already is,” Katie begged. “Resisting wont help anything. It’s easier to just do as they say.”

“Easy, but not _right_ ,” Neville fumed. “You still haven’t said what _they_ are looking for.”

“I don’t know, they didn’t tell us,” Katie replied in a tiny voice. “We just have to do the collections for them.”

“This is my _girlfriend’s_ stuff,” Harry argued forcefully. “It’s all I have left of her. So if you think I’m going to stand here and let you take it then you’ve got my character very wrong indeed.”

“Yeah, mine too,” Neville added staunchly. “We’re _Gryffindors_ \- we don’t bow to cowards like the Grey Robes.”

“But they aren’t giving us a choice,” Katie moaned. “If we _don’t_ do this, they will punish us. There will be reprisals. And they wont be against _you_ , Harry, who the GR know can take it. It will be against the weak and the innocent, a deterrent to keep the rest of us in line. Please, I’m _begging_ you not to give them another reason to hurt our children!”

Harry riled against the agony of the pincer move. It caused him to roar like a lion. “What if I just say this is all my stuff?”

“Come on, _Harry,_ this is _Hermione Granger_ we are talking about,” Katie argued. “Even if she wasn’t connected to you, she’s still one of the brightest and cleverest Muggleborns Hogwarts has ever seen! She’s exactly the type of threat the Grey Robes want to eliminate. And they know this is her stuff. We _cant_ go back without it.”

“Harry, maybe it wont be so bad,” Neville suggested. “It’s just school books and clothes and things. They can be replaced.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Maybe … maybe we can let them have _some_ things,” Neville explained. He turned fiercely to Katie, as if daring her to challenge his suggestion, but she simply whimpered against his pulsing eyes. “Any _personal_ items, you keep. Anything else, let them have it.”

Harry turned to Katie. “Any problem with that?”

“I don’t … but _they_ might. And they are bound to know what you've done, once they look through Hermione’s things.”

“I don’t care about _them_ ,” Harry spat. “Just say I bullied you or threatened you if they query it. Send them to me … and I’ll send them through The Veil on a shovel!”

“What does that mean?” asked Katie, confused.

“You don’t want to know,” Neville answered darkly.

“You’ll leave me all Hermione’s personal effects,” Harry declared. “I don’t need them all, so you can have some of her old brushes or Sleek Easy or whatever. But I’ll choose what to keep. Get lost for ten minutes. Go and raid someone else’s dorm.”

“Yeah, come with me,” Neville jumped in. “I’ll take you to _my girlfriend’s_ dorm. So I can do the same.”

Katie nodded meekly and turned her sad eyes to Harry. “Don’t hate me too badly, Harry. I’m not brave like you.”

Harry returned her plea with an emotionless scowl. “You have to decide how best to live with your troubled conscience, Kate. I’m not going to give you an absolution, so don’t look to me for one. You do what you have to, just remember you’re part of their machine now. Remember it when they haul away Demelza and Colin. Remember how you put the needs of the one - yourself - over the needs of the many. I think I’d rather be _dead_ than live with something like that.”

Katie whimpered, her eyes moist with tears, as Neville led her away. Harry felt not the tiniest bit of sympathy for upsetting her. She was just another casualty of war as far as he was concerned now. But he had to make sure Hermione’s memory, her legacy, didn’t follow Katie into the dark abyss.

So he began rifling through her things. It sickened him, felt like a violation of Hermione’s privacy, even though _he_ was the one doing it. His mind couldn’t cope with the potent surge of his anger, at the knowing that - very soon - a strange pair of hands would be fingering through her underwear, flicking through the pages of tomes she had so lovingly annotated and bookmarked, picking out the tangle of hair from her brushes.

He wouldn’t allow that, not for a second. He frantically pulled and tugged at every comb and paddle brush he could find. He didn’t want to leave even a single _strand_ for those bastards to touch. Harry found, and pocketed, a series of pretty ribbons and bows and flowery clips that Hermione often wore. They were too personal to her, to _him_ , he wouldn’t let those arseholes near them. He even slipped her toothbrush into his robe, her dental floss, too. He didn’t want to miss _anything_ that carried so much as a fingerprint of his girlfriend

Then he came to a little lidded tin. His heart leapt as he saw, inside, the folded up Marauders Map, and underneath that was a bundle of cards and letters. Harry cautiously opened a few up and saw, to his heartfelt astonishment, that it was a collection of every single piece of correspondence Hermione had ever received … from _him._ Birthday and Christmas cards, letters exchanged over holidays, even a few notes asking for her to proofread some of his essays when she had time.

Harry remembered them all fondly a moment. Then his fondness turned to vitriolic anger … as he realised the Grey Robes would have _burned_ all of this, had they gotten their dirty hands on them. Would have heartlessly incinerated this collection of messages of friendship and love- from _him_ \- that Hermione had cherished, probably in secret moments when she thought nobody else would see her.

And in that moment, Harry wanted to _murder_ Lord Voldemort. Not just defeat him … but _kill him_. Deny him of the gift of life. Not just to free the world from him, but to take a very _personal_ revenge upon him. It was as if the Dark Lord were standing in the very room, holding the taper to Hermione’s collection, setting fire to Harry’s own signatures, some of which Hermione had encircled in little hearts. He would have callously taken all that from her ... and probably laughed that high-pitched laugh as he relished the experience.

So Harry decided, there and then, to take Voldemort’s life from _him_ , before he could hurt Harry's love in _any_ sort of way.

He’d never been so angry. He gathered up _all_ of Hermione’s things and stored them carefully back in her trunk. Then he wheeled it into his _own_ dorm, before crossing the hall to Hermione’s, and moving everything he could into his trunk and the few boxes he was able to rustle up. He sealed them all with the most powerful spells he knew, then called for Dobby.

“Master Harry Potter?” the elf queried. “What does you need?”

“Dobby, can you still leave Hogwarts with your magic?” Harry asked.

“Yes, Master Harry, Dobby can. Whys?”

“I want you to take _all_ of my things, and Miss Hermione’s too, and deliver them to Grimmauld Place. Just leave me with my school books and these disgusting new robes, and enough clean underwear to be going on with. Then, I want you to take my _special_ cloak - you know the one - and this tin,” he gave Hermione’s secret box to the elf, “to Gringotts. Seal the tin with the most powerful magic you can - get Kreacher to do the same - then have the goblins store both things in my Vault. Can you do that for me?”

“Dobby can!” the elf exclaimed, looking thrilled at being able to carry out Harry’s wishes. “I go now.”

Harry sealed his dorm room and waited as Dobby worked. It took several trips, and a couple of hours, for everything to be done. Neville came and knocked on the door, just as Dobby came back with a Bill of Receipt from Gringotts, acknowledging the deposit of Harry’s most private things in his secure vault.

“Wow. Looks a little … er … _bare_ in here,” Neville quirked, as Harry opened the door.

“I’ve decided to live like a Spartan,” Harry replied. “Or a Puritan. What are those ones with the funny hats.”

“Quakers,” Neville answered. “Like that porridge cereal.”

“Urgh, I _hate_ porridge,” Harry retched.

“I’m not a huge fan,” Neville concurred. “But at least the box is cute.”

Harry scrunched his eyes in his perplexion. “Come on, let’s take this hair to Luna.”

“You know, I really think this is going to work, Harry,” Neville twittered eagerly. “And when it does, we’ll be able to talk to our girls again. I cant wait!”

“Aww!” Harry teased. “Is ickle Nevvy missing his girly friend!?”

“Yes, he is,” Neville returned, unabashed. “Kissing my pillow just isn’t the same, you know!”

“Dont even _look_ at my lips!” Harry warned with a laugh. “I like you a lot, Nev, but let’s keep things professional, shall we!”

Neville nudged Harry firmly with his shoulder as they made their way back into the North Common Room. It was still cold and heart-aching to see the Portrait Hole constantly open, but it did have the added bonus now of not drawing attention as Harry and Neville sidled up to it and stepped through. Once they were out of sight of the other students, Harry threw his Invisibility Cloak over them and they made their way through the darkening halls, resisting the urge to boot Mrs Norris in the face as they passed her near the Third Floor corridor.

Luna looked up brightly, as Harry and Neville joined her in the Art Room. She was quite alone and had two crucibles of potion-infused paint in front of her. She was just adding Harry’s scar to his portrait, making it look more like a flash of electricity than the ugly scar he was used to. He quirked an eyebrow at the affectation as he came up on Luna’s shoulders.

“Call it _Artist’s Licence_ ,” Luna grinned in explanation.

“I think it looks _wicked_ like that!” Neville exclaimed. “Makes you look like a superhero or something, Harry. You should do it in real life, it would make you look so badass!”

“Or so _dumb-ass_ ,” Harry quipped with a snorted chuckle. “Can you imagine what Malfoy would say if he saw me like that?”

“I try not to pay attention to anything _that_ Skrewt-botherer says,” Neville huffed.

“Here you go, Lu,” Harry went on, passing a bundle of hair to Luna. “Sorry it’s all bunched up, I got a bit frantic when the Grey Robes were trying to take away Hermione’s stuff earlier.”

“Yes, I heard Cho Chang was organising the removal of all Muggleborn and half-born possessions from our dorms, too,” Luna replied, sadly. “It’s horrible, isn’t it?”

“Yes, very,” Harry agreed.

“At least you were able to get _this_ ,” Luna returned, holding up the ball of hair in her hand. “I just need to pick a strand or two …”

Then she began inspecting the bundle. Harry couldn’t imagine what she was being so selective for, or even that she could _see_ what she was looking at, for it was very dark now and the Art Room lowly lit, as it should have been out of use at this time of night. Eventually, Luna decided on three strands she liked and added them to the potion in front of her, which bubbled a little as the hair dissolved and the mixture changed colour.

“Isn’t that funny?” Luna commented as she dipped a brush into the potion-paint.

“What is?”

“Well, _Hermione’s_ paint has gone a perfect shade of silver,” Luna cleared up.

“And that’s funny … _why_?” asked Neville.

“Oh, only because _Harry’s_ paint is a perfect shade of gold. Gold and silver. It’s neat, isn’t it?”

Harry grinned in agreement. He and Hermione … two of the most precious of metals. It was sickeningly romantic. He decided not to tell Neville what he thought about that. He might think he was going soft.

So he just watched Luna work in the gloom. She focused on Hermione’s portrait first, adding the potion to the image of her on the canvas. It glowed silvery as the magic worked. Then she moved to Harry’s picture, and did the same with him. He glowed _golden_ in response, and shared a grin with his real-life subject as the effect settled on them _both_.

“Well isn’t this weird?” Harry proffered. “I can _feel_ … _him!”_

“What do you mean?” Neville quirked.

“I don’t know, really, it’s hard to describe,” Harry explained. “It’s like a dream, or a memory, or a bit of imagination. I can almost _sense_ the frame, like I’m in a box, or something.”

“That must be the magic working,” Luna theorised happily. “The bit of your life-force in the paint is linked to your spirit in _you_. The picture will work a bit like an _avatar_. That’s what Professor Bobross said anyway.”

“What … so _I_ can control … _painted me_?” Harry hushed. “Wow.”

“Try it,” Luna beamed. “Imagine you are _him_ , and try to walk out of the picture and into Hermione’s frame.”

“Okay, but … will _she_ know that I have?” Harry queried. “The _real_ her, I mean?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Luna considered. “I think you have to be really close to feel the link. Once she has the picture, though, yes she will.”

Harry thrilled at that, at the idea that his painted self could hug the painted Hermione and that they’d _both_ feel it. It wouldn’t be as good as the real thing, but Harry would give his right nut just to feel _anything_ from Hermione just now.

So he closed his eyes, as it seemed like the sort of thing to do, concentrated on being in the portrait … and moved to the left.

There was a slight breeze, a little whimper, a louder _squeal_ , and a pair of warm arms suddenly snatched around him. Harry opened his eyes and moved his _actual_ arms to try and hug Hermione back … and lost the connection immediately.

“Hey, that was devilish, taunting me like that!” Harry quipped, grinning at the cross little expressions on the painted faces before him. Hermione had a hand on her hip, so much like the real thing that Harry physically _ached_ at the sight. Then Hermione spoke, undoubtedly to tell him off.

Well, she _sort of_ did.

“Meow … meow, meow, hiss, hiss, meow … _meeoooww_!”

Tiny Hermione looked startled and threw her hand to her mouth, unsure what was going on. Neville just laughed heartily as Harry threw a look at _Luna_. But he thought he knew _exactly_ what had happened.

And so did _she_.

“Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry!” she cried. “I must have tangled some of _Crookshanks’_ hair in with the strands from Hermione!”

“And now she can only talk like a cat!” Neville screeched. “Oh my Merlin … this is _classic!_ I’m _weak_ … kill me now. Ha ha ha!”

“Harry … I’m so sorry!”

“Don't worry, Lu!” Harry laughed. “It was an easy mistake to make. What the hell was Hermione doing grooming Crookshanks with her _own_ hairbrush! Silly girl. I hope he didn’t have fleas!”

“Oh, please, Harry! No more!” Neville begged, his eyes watering in his mirth. “ _Talking Cat!Hermion_ e! With fleas! I’ve seen it all. I can die happy now!”

Harry shuddered a moment, as one of his worst memories peeked out to the surface of his mind … a memory of Hermione's face _grossly_ semi-disfigured, after her Second-Year Polyjuice potion went wrong and turned her partially feline _then_.

But it was strangely ironic, Harry considered … all the effort that Hermione had put in over the Summer - to try and _learn_ cat language - to be able to speak to Crookshanks, and there was a solution right here all along. The painting could have talked to the cat, and then translated to the real-life Hermione.

If only there was a way to do that the _other way round_ …

Harry’s startled expression was mirrored by Luna’s sharp intake of breath, as they seemed to come to the same conclusion at the same time. Their change in air was enough to calm Neville in a moment.

“What is it?” he pressed urgently. “What have I missed?”

“Hermione can talk like a cat now, but can still understand _our_ language,” Luna began. She turned to the painting of Hermione, who was watching proceedings with intrigue. “Cant you?”

Tiny Hermione nodded in confirmation.

“Which _means_ ,” Harry took over, “that if we can translate it the _other_ way, we can still communicate!”

“And not only _that_ , but we will have a practically unbreakable code!” Luna added excitedly.

“The only problem is, we don’t know anyone who speaks _cat_ , do we?” Harry pondered.

“Ooh, Harry!” Neville exclaimed. “What about … and don’t laugh now … but what if you _became_ a cat! Then you could talk directly to the painting!”

“What … you mean like … become an _Animagus_?” Harry whispered breathily.

“Yeah! Become a cat! A big one, obviously.”

“Like a _lion_!” Luna added. “That would be amazing, Harry!”

“And dead useful,” Harry mused, his heart pounding in his enthusiasm. “But that will take too long. And who do _we_ know who can help us in any of this? We don’t know any Animagi.”

“Well, you do know _one_ ,” came a stern voice from the shadows. Just then, the cat that Harry had thought was Mrs Norris earlier slinked across the room, transforming into a widely-smirking Potter Regent as she regained her feet as a witch again. “And she would be just _thrilled_ to help you … in _any_ way I can! Starting with becoming a feline language translator for Team Potter!”


	24. Broadening The Horizons

Lord Roth closed the large doors to the drawing room and turned to face Hermione, who was standing over by one of the large windows and admiring the fine prospect down towards the trout lake. The atmosphere in the room was taut already, which was largely Hermione’s fault after she’d barged in full of bluster and demanded answers from the Lord of the Manor.

Though a large part of Hermione wasn’t sure that she really wanted to hear them.

But Lord Roth had agreed to speak with her, which in her mind meant he was at least compliant in the disclosure she was seeking. Hermione thought it was quite likely that he expected her to just demand details about Harry’s faux-demise, which she had her own concerns about. For even _pretending_ that Harry was dead hurt her heart, but it was a ruse she had to keep up for the sake of gaining some much needed intelligence.

“Can I get you some tea, Miss Granger?” Lord Roth enquired.

“No, thank you.”

“A glass of wine, perhaps?”

“No beverages, thank you,” Hermione returned firmly. “I would like answers from you, Lord Roth, nothing more.”

“Yes, I deciphered that much from the way you scared away my guests!” Lord Roth quirked, pouring himself a glass of claret from a decanter on the table. “But I forgive that. You are in an emotional way, no doubt, considering the trauma you have suffered. Your behaviour is understandable.”

“I don’t believe Harry is dead, so let’s establish that before we start,” Hermione volleyed back. “I know you produced the evidence, but you’ll have to forgive me for holding out hope. Call it the blind optimism of a lovesick teenager, if you like, but I wont believe Harry has left me until I see it for myself … until my heart _feels_ it. Which it doesn’t.”

Lord Roth smiled sadly at Hermione’s fierce determination, but decided not to challenge her logic. If this was her coping mechanism, who was _he_ to undermine it with the truth she couldn’t process?

“So, if this isn’t about Harry Potter, what _is_ it about?” Lord Roth asked. “I confess myself curious as to what else could have stirred your passions so.”

“ _Project Horizon_ ,” Hermione blurted out. “I want to know all you know about it.”

Lord Roth’s fist tightened around his glass, as his jaw set firmly. “How do you know about that?”

“Your daughter mentioned that _you_ know about it,” Hermione confessed. “That it was how you came to be in league with Albus Dumbledore. That wasn’t the _first_ time I heard about the project, though, so don’t be angry with Celesca for telling me. But I want to know your involvement with it, and Dumbledore’s, and this _deal_ that you did to escape Dark Wizards.”

“Celesca really did give you a speech, didn’t she?” Lord Roth quirked, semi-amused. “I’m not sure whether to be angry with her for telling you, or to _thank you_ for encouraging her to talk. I do worry sometimes about her social skills. But if you can improve them, maybe I should encourage the friendship.”

“Lord Roth, please …”

“Very well, Miss Granger,” Lord Roth replied. “I will tell you my story, if you tell me yours first. How do you know about _Horizon_? The project is so secretive it has been practically Memory Charmed from the Magical population. How did _you_ come across it?”

“My parents were part of it,” Hermione explained. “And my grandparents, too. They told me.”

Lord Roth’s eyes went very wide in his surprise. “What … _both_ sets?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes. All four of my grandparents were Squibs. My own parents showed no magical skill at all, but then they had me. And I became, however perversely, the fruit of the experiments that _Horizon_ sought to achieve.”

“Sweet Merlin above!” Lord Roth breathed, his voice an awestruck mix of reverence and horror. “Do you know how rare that makes you? How _unique_? No wonder he’s so interested in you.”

“ _He_?” Hermione queried. “Do you mean Dumbledore?”

Lord Roth nodded. “I do. He speaks of you very often. I thought it was merely due to your close connection to Potter, but now … I can see he has a very personal interest in you as you are. How fascinating.”

“Celesca said Dumbledore was involved in _Horizon …_ that he had a hand in _creating_ it,” Hermione went on. She waited for Lord Roth to nod his confirmation before continuing. “What was it? What did he hope to achieve with it?”

“Do you want the Dark reason … or the _very_ Dark one?”

Hermione shuddered under the look Lord Roth gave her just then. She didn’t think she was going to like this one bit.

“I want _both_.”

“Well, the surface reason was simple eugenics,” Lord Roth began. “In the mind of Albus, and others who shared his views, Squibs were merely _defective_ wizards. They were _missing_ something, an element _Horizon_ hoped to identify and reactivate in the Squibs.”

“And, I assume, in Muggles, too?” Hermione postulated.

“Exactly,” Lord Roth nodded. “The questions at the heart of _Horizon_ were how do Muggles produce Magical children, and how do should-be-magical Squibs essentially _lose_ that magic? It happened regularly, so there must have been a genetic cause. One Albus and his peers sought to root out and prevent.”

“I see. And I suppose the best way to _identify_ that root was to study the point when it was produced … in the birth of these poor children?”

“That was the eventual conclusion, yes,” Lord Roth confirmed lowly. “And that was the point where the moral conundrums of the project gave some of the people involved second thoughts on what they were doing, which eventually led to the project being shut down. In an _official_ capacity, at any rate.”

“What do you mean by that? _In an official capacity_?” Hermione asked.

“Try to understand the stakes involved here, Miss Granger,” Lord Roth continued. “This programme wasn’t simply about fact finding. It didn’t seek to understand why a person’s hair was a certain colour or their eyes a certain shape. It sought to identify this key aspect of human genetic make-up, then to devise a method of manipulating it across _the entire world_. For the Greater Good, in Albus’ words. He simply had too much invested in it to simply let it go.”

Hermione sucked in an angry breath. “So he _continued_ it … in _secret_?”

Lord Roth nodded. “The role at Hogwarts was ideal for him. It provided him with a fertile testing ground, and an essentially unlimited supply of test subjects from all backgrounds. It allowed him to expand the programme in a way that _Horizon_ never could. It’s a crime hidden in plain sight.”

Hermione gasped in shock again. “Can you explain that, please? How did he _expand his_ _Horizons,_ if you like?”

“By broadening the scope of his study,” Lord Roth explained. “You see, at the beginning _Horizon_ sought only to identify _magic_ \- or a lack of it. It had no gradients. But Albus quickly realised that it _could_. Like in all walks of life, some people are more magically talented than others. It’s no different to someone being smarter or faster or funnier. It’s simply nature at work. But it posed Albus a new question … _why_? How was it that some people were _more_ magical than others?

“So he went back to eugenics. In physical capabilities, it can be put down to muscle density. If I’m physically stronger than you, it’s because my muscles are bigger. Albus theorised that maybe something similar existed with magic. What he needed was a way of studying it.

“And what better way than at a _school_ , where he would have a wide spectrum of people to observe and test. All he had to do was create a criteria, apply a scientific method. Why do you think the Sorting Hat separates students in the way it does? Do you honestly believe that a student in Hufflepuff cannot be brave, because he isn’t a Gryffindor? Or that no Ravenclaw student can be as cunning as your average Slytherin?”

Hermione blinked in her surprise. “I … I never thought of it like that before! Oh my lord.”

“So, at Hogwarts, Albus would have a plentiful conveyor belt of subjects to continue his study with,” Lord Roth continued. “He could test magical potential in thousands of children. Even his hiring policy allowed him to broaden his scope. He hired a Squib janitor, just to see if being around magic would awaken his dormant gene, employed a half-giant to see how the magic in a _half-breed_ developed over time. Making him a _teacher_ was just plain insanity, but I imagine it’s another part of the study, too.

“And, of course, he could design a curriculum and hire Professors who would unwittingly carry out this testing for him. I don’t think they even know they are part of it themselves. All except for Snape, obviously, as he was a _Child of Horizon_ , himself.”

“What!” Hermione breathed. “Snape was part of it!”

Lord Roth nodded. “One of the original half-blood subjects. His father, Tobias, was a Muggle, his mother a witch, obviously. Old Sev was ‘volunteered’ to the programme when his family were in need of the money. I don’t think it was a pleasant experience for him. It turned him to the Death Eaters eventually.”

“If you don’t mind me asking … how do _you_ know all this?” Hermione blurted out. “Who are you?”

“I, too, was ‘offered’ to _Horizon,”_ Lord Roth disclosed. “My family were heavily into the idea of racial purity. They saw our very _blood_ as superior, so held me up as a paradigm of magical idealism, which _Horizon_ could use as a benchmark. I was treated well, but I was kept away from the nastier aspects.

“It wasn’t until my brother went to Hogwarts that I suspected all was not as it seemed. He developed a terrible enmity with Snape, but my recollections of him - from our time with _Horizon_ \- were that he was quite pleasant and polite, if admittedly a little shy. The way my brother painted him was as a Dark Lord in training. That was my first inkling, but it wasn’t until years later that I uncovered all the Dark truths of _Horizon_.”

Hermione furrowed her brows. “Your brother developed an enmity with Snape, you say? Who was he? Who were _you_ before your change in identity?”

“My true name is Regulus Black. You knew my brother, Sirius, I believe.”

Hermione nearly fell off her chair. “Regulus _Black?_ Sirius’ brother?! Oh Merlin ... I forgot that Lady Roth told me that! I’ve been to your house … my parents have sequestered your old _bedroom_!”

“Yes … I noticed,” Regulus quirked back. “I must say I like how they’ve brightened up the place. They’ve even managed to soften old Kreacher. That’s a form of magic in itself!”

Hermione was thrown for a loop. “You’ve _been_ there? You’ve seen it? How?”

“Albus granted me access,” Regulus explained. “He has use of my house-elf for some purpose with his Brompton Road work. Kreacher says it is all rather banal stuff so I haven’t pushed for more detail. And he’s happy to be useful again, which pleases me to see.”

“What could Dumbledore be using a house-elf for?” Hermione asked.

“You sound suspicious,” Regulus commented. “You think his purpose nefarious?”

“I think _everything_ about Dumbledore is nefarious!” Hermione cried. “All this plotting and scheming … it’s gotten me thinking. I wonder if he was using my Harry the whole time? Dumbledore knew that _he_ had a unique form of magic, one specially charged with a mysterious power to defeat a Dark Lord … a power said-Dark Lord knew nothing about.”

“That would certainly have drawn Albus’ interest,” Regulus agreed. “It fits his pattern. What are you thinking?”

“All this stuff Harry went through, all the trials of his life,” Hermione elaborated, standing up and pacing in front of the fire. She wished she’d taken that glass of wine now, to calm her racing nerves. “I’m starting to wonder if Dumbledore planned them all. From putting him with neglectful relatives to see how he coped with solitude and mistreatment, to enabling him to compete in the Triwizard Tournament against his European peers … were they all just vehicles to test his talent and nature? He allowed him to front up to the obstacles guarding the Philosopher’s Stone, let him face a basilisk armed only with his wits, encouraged compassion and leadership in him. Was it all to try and expose this _power he knows not_?”

“It sounds like the sorts of methods Albus would use, I have to agree,” Regulus nodded. “But now Harry is dead. And that power died with him.”

“Harry _isn’t_ dead!” Hermione insisted with a shriek. “Give me a chance to prove it to you.”

“How?”

“Take me to Grimmauld Place,” Hermione replied. “If Harry is dead, the protections on the house would have reset … and defaulted to _me_.”

“How is that possible?” asked Regulus.

“Harry and I have entered into … an _arrangement_ ,” Hermione confessed shyly. “In the event of Harry’s death all his estate passes to me. Grimmauld Place included.”

“That sounds like a _marriage_.”

“It is, in essence, exactly that,” Hermione replied in a blush. “We are married in everything but the vow itself. Certainly from a legal perspective. If Harry’s Fidelius Charm had been extinguished with his death, it would have immediately settled on _me_ … and I _haven’t_ felt that.

“So I know that Harry is still alive. Please, Mr Black … Lord Roth … whatever you like … let me prove it to you.”

Regulus considered Hermione a moment, considered himself, too. “If you are right, it opens up a disturbing possibility. That Dumbledore has _hoodwinked_ me … perhaps even _cursed_ me … into believing that Harry Potter has died. If I help you now, will you promise to help me in turn? To get to the bottom of what Dumbledore has in mind for me?”

“I will,” Hermione promised faithfully. “I have a feeling this is all connected. And I _will_ get to the crux of the matter … and when I do, I intend to do what you could not … I will expose Dumbledore for what he truly is.”

“And when that time comes, I will support you, Miss Granger,” Regulus smiled. “Come along then, fetch a warm coat and follow me. We have a train to catch.”


	25. The Special Operations Executive

Harry accepted a large cup of coffee from his Regent and sat down in the comfortable leather chair near the fire. Minerva was busy casting a raft of privacy spells on the door, and Harry was very interested to hear her reasoning behind that. He had never been in Minerva’s private chambers before, and the fact that she was enchanting the room with every security feature in her repertoire made Harry suspect something had happened that might have finally, _finally_ brought her around to Harry’s way of thinking.

And every ally he could get was a bonus, as far as Harry was concerned. The bigger Team Potter became, the better it would be for the wider world. It was practically the foundation of a _resistance movement_ at this point.

Which thrilled Harry to bits. Neville and Luna had already adopted the name as a sort of moniker. In fact, Luna was feverishly designing logos and posters and symbols for the new group, as Harry set about swelling its membership with the recruitment of the Hogwarts Deputy Headmistress.

Luna also thought it would be handy to have a sort of _theme song_ , a rallying hymn that supporters could use to rouse their spirits, or else quote to each other, to identify themselves as a friend of Team Potter. She had borrowed a lute from one of the Music Rooms on the Second Floor and was hard at work composing the lyrics, as well as being even harder at work trying to teach herself to play the instrument in the first place!

_“Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior’s heart_

_I tell you, I tell you, the Lion-born comes._

_With a lightning-shaped scar_

_And a phoenix-core wand_

_Beware, beware the Lion-born comes!”_

Harry looked over doubtingly as Luna picked at random strings on her lute, hummed the tune in her soft, lyrical voice, then scribbled down her lyrics with a quill. He was pretty confident that the song wouldn’t ever catch on. Even _The Weird Sisters_ couldn’t make a hit with _that_!

So Harry pocketed any wild notions of _Top of the Pops_ stardom and focused on his coffee, and the witch who was waiting for him to thank her for making it. So he thought he’d better start there, before she turned her wand on him.

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry began. “This is good coffee.”

“I know, I bought it,” Professor McGonagall quirked. “But we aren’t here to discuss varieties of Arabica beans, are we Harry? And we are out of hours now … call me Minerva, or I shall give you a week of detentions!”

“Hey! That’s not fair. What happened to being _out of hours_!” Harry chuckled.

“My rooms, my rules,” Minerva returned smoothly. “So, bring me up to speed on your activities.”

“I will, I promise, but I have to know why you have this sudden interest,” Harry replied. “I have to be certain that you’re acting of your volition.”

“You _suspect_ me?”

“I suspect _everyone_ , who’s been out of my sight for more than a day,” Harry retorted, unabashed despite Minerva’s shocked expression. “Don’t take it personally. You’re in good company … with the rest of the entire world!”

“Including Hermione?” Minerva smirked.

“No, she’s not included,” Harry grinned back. “And if she _was_ , you’d all be in trouble.”

“Why is that?”

“Easy … because if _she_ turned Dark _,_ I’d turn Dark with her! Then you’d all be doing _our_ bidding!”

“Isn’t that _already_ what we’re doing?” Luna asked serenely without looking up from her strumming. “You’re asking us to help you, and we are.”

“It sounds sinister when you put it like that, Lu-Lu” Harry frowned. “At least I don’t have any plans to throw dissenters into giant ovens, or anything.”

“And as long as you maintain _that_ view, Harry, you’re on solid moral ground,” Minerva approved. “But you have passed your first test from me.”

“Test? What test? I didn’t see a test anywhere,” Harry complained, looking around the room as if he expected to see a stack of exam parchments hidden behind the Tartan curtains or something.

Minerva laughed lowly. “No, Harry, this was a test of your character, of your suitability to lead. If you had outright told me everything - _without_ vetting me - I’d have lost faith in you at a stroke. I am impressed.”

Harry felt his cheeks colour under the look Minerva had fixed on him. It would take some getting used to. He tried to stay firm in the face of her reverence.

“Okay. Er … so tell me why you’ve come to me now.”

“I have lost faith in Albus Dumbledore,” Minerva announced bluntly. “I have tried and tried to avoid this moment, but I can no longer justify his stance in this developing situation, nor can I look at myself in the mirror with any level of self-respect. I don’t know what I can do, but I cannot be idle against this rising tide.”

“What’s caused this change?” Harry pressed.

“The persecution of the Muggleborns that has been taking place at Hogwarts,” Minerva explained. “And be in no doubt, Harry, that is _exactly_ what it is. They are being marginalised, victimised, targeted by the GR. It hasn’t descended into outright _physical_ abuse yet, but I fear what will happen if it does. The Muggleborns and half-borns are being made to feel like second-class citizens … and Dumbledore is doing nothing to protect them. He is violating his oaths … we _all_ are by not doing more.”

“Is he actively _preventing_ you from helping them?” asked Neville, who was over by the far wall, admiring Minerva’s collection of vintage Sporrans.

“Not so much, and by that I mean he isn’t actually _holding_ our wand-arms at bay,” Minerva began. “But he has made it clear that we are to follow a policy of compliance for now. And that is what bothers me the most … _for now_. Everything Albus has been preaching is about going along with this _for now._

“But I … and others … have started to question how long that will go on for, and how far these measures will go, before we are compelled to actively resist them. I am deeply concerned that - by the time that point comes around - things will have gone too far … and we may not be able to stop this.”

“And how would you hope to be involved with us?” Harry asked.

“This is _your_ Resistance Cell, Harry, you tell _me_ how I can best serve the cause,” Minerva returned. “I have an ear to the Headmaster, so you could tap that resource. But for now, this secret communication between yourself and Hermione seems a good entry usage for me.”

“I agree,” Harry nodded. “I suppose I never really thought about it. That once you became an Animagus you could do all the things that animal could, including communicate. Do you understand other cats, then?”

“Of course,” Minerva confirmed. “I’ve had so many rows with Mrs Norris over the years that I even try to avoid the little wretch when I’m in my witch form!”

“So you could talk to the Hermione in Luna’s portrait?”

“Yes,” Minerva replied. “I understood what she was trying to say to you when I followed you to the Art Room.”

“And what was it?” Harry queried.

“You don’t really want to know! Miss Granger was very cross!”

Harry chuckled to himself. He’d gotten the gist right at least then, even if he didn’t understand all the cat-curse-words Hermione had thrown at him.

“The problem you have is letting _Hermione_ in on the scheme,” Minerva went on. “If she gets her portrait it would be no use her communicating through the painted version of _you_ , as anyone could overhear or spy on what you were saying. To use the cat language as a code, we have to rely on painted Hermione to be the conduit of messages.”

“But how would she _know_ that? I see,” Harry mused. “Hermione doesn’t know anything about what we’ve been doing, so none of this would make sense to her, would it?”

“Precisely. We need to find a way to educate Miss Granger about what it is we are trying to establish. As well as to deliver the portrait to her in the first place.”

“What do you know about _Brompton Road_?” Harry asked cautiously.

Minerva looked swarthily at Harry, sizing him up. “Now where in the name of Merlin did you hear about _that_?”

“Dumbledore took me to meet some of their members … including my Godfather Sirius’ brother, Regulus Black. Did you know about him?”

She did, that much was clear from the awkward way Minerva shifted in her seat, as she thought how best to respond. But Harry beat her to it.

“It’s okay if you did, I’m not mad,” Harry hushed. “I know it was a secret.”

“I am sorry, Harry. I should have told you.”

“You couldn’t, I get that. But are you part of Brompton Road?”

“I have helped them with some things in the past,” Minerva revealed. “But I would not consider myself a fully-fledged member.”

“But could you get in contact with them, if you needed to?” Harry pushed.

“Only via Albus,” Minerva replied. “I operated with them in a capacity of _‘I didn’t go to them, they came to me_ ’ type of arrangement.”

“And always through Dumbledore?”

“Always.”

“Merlin’s big hairy balls!” Harry bitched. “That doesn’t help matters.”

“Neither does your cursing!” Minerva admonished. “Cut it out, if you please.”

“Sorry, Regent!” Harry quirked.

“Why do you wish to contact Brompton Road anyway?” Minerva went on, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. “How can they help?”

“Regulus Black has Hermione staying on his estate,” Harry explained. “I don’t have a clue where that is, but if we can get hold of him he can deliver a message to Hermione. And her painting, too.”

“The only person who has direct contact with Regulus is the Headmaster,” Minerva revealed. “I understand he often uses Regulus’ old house-elf for covert work. It is the elf who facilitates the contact between them.”

“Kreacher! Of course!” Harry exclaimed, slapping his scar. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Think of what?” asked Neville, who had taken a seat nearby after Harry’s sudden outburst.

“Kreacher lives at Grimmauld Place now … a house I _own_! I put Hermione’s parents there to keep them safe. Kreacher has been helping to take care of them. Regulus _told_ me that Kreacher was once in his service, or at least to his family. Why didn’t I make the connection between them before? It’s bloody obvious!”

“Because your brain isn’t here to work it out for you!” Neville teased. “She’s hidden away with Enola somewhere!”

“Shut up, Longbottom or I’ll set Snape on you!” Harry laughed in revenge.

“Bring it, I’ll just close his curtains for him,” Neville volleyed back stoutly. “You know, that lank mess he calls _hair_!”

“I think that’s quite enough of that,” Minerva frowned. “From the both of you.”

“Sorry,” Harry and Neville chorused.

“Better,” Minerva replied sternly. “Now, Harry, what were you about to suggest?”

“If Kreacher can get to Regulus, and I can get to Kreacher, then we can open that line of communication to Hermione,” Harry explained. “All I need to do is get to Grimmauld Place to speak to him. Do I have permission to leave the castle still?”

“I would imagine that the Headmaster will have revoked that privilege,” Minerva pointed out. “The security measures on the castle are as stringent as I’ve ever known them. He is unlikely to let you leave the grounds without you being explicit in your reasons why.”

“Which I have no intention of being,” Harry hissed. “But maybe I can convince him to let me go and see Hermione’s parents or something. I have to try.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, I’m already late on acting,” Harry grumbled, standing and turning to go.

“And if he refuses?” asked Minerva.

“Then we have to think of another way to bypass these new security features,” Harry declared. “Luna - dig out _Hogwarts: A History._ Maybe there will be something in there that can help. See if we cant make something _old_ new again.”

“I’ll try, Harry,” promised Luna, who Harry saw - with a shock of horror - had written a _second_ verse of ‘ _The Lion-born Comes.’_

Harry left them to their whims and made his way through the castle. It was nearly midnight now, and the corridors were getting draughtier as November drew on. Harry tugged his robes tight against him to keep out the cold as he crossed Hogwarts to the Headmaster’s Chamber.

But what he found there was not what he was expecting at all.

The first unusual thing was how bare the place was compared to normal. The collection of spindly instruments, which were usually puffing and whirring away as the soundtrack to the room, were not only silent … they were _absent_. Many of the bookshelves were similarly empty, and the glass cabinet containing Dumbledore’s Pensieve and Memory Collection was likewise devoid of its contents.

 _What was going on?_ Harry thought to himself.

The answer was worse than he could imagine and when it came, Harry rather wished he hadn’t asked.

For he suddenly heard a voice speaking out of the fireplace, a voice that chilled him to his very bone marrow. The scar on his hand, the words forever etched there from that evil quill, ached appropriately as the voice of the bitch who had caused them settled in Harry’s ears like molten metal.

“Yes, Albus, this is going to be a good thing, for the whole country,” Dolores Umbridge was saying. “You’ll agree soon enough.”

Harry was glad to see that Umbridge was merely communicating _through_ the fire, and was not in the room herself. It was a good thing too, for Harry didn’t trust himself not to stab her in the eye with his wand the next time he saw her.

Just then, Dumbledore emerged from his personal room at the back of the office. He stopped dead as he and Harry locked eyes, confusion and anger flaring between them. Dumbledore was carrying an armful of robes, which he was about to add to an open trunk behind the desk. It had been magically modified, and Harry now saw where all the spindly instruments had gone.

Harry simply wondered if Dumbledore was _going_ with them … and where they were headed.

“What are you doing?” Harry demanded. “Are you _leaving_?”

Dumbledore cast his hand towards the fireplace, extinguishing the flames there. Then he turned back to Harry.

“Harry, let me explain.”

“I’m all ears,” Harry spat back, moving to the desk. There were half a dozen trunks of other sizes already packed and ready to go. Harry flicked his scowling eyes back to the Headmaster. “Well?”

“I am leaving, yes,” Dumbledore began lowly. “My time at Hogwarts is at an end.”

“Are you running away?” Harry hissed. “Is that what this is?”

“Far from it, Harry,” Dumbledore replied, a trace of pleading in his tone. “In fact, you could say I’m going even closer to our enemies. Right to the very _heart_ of them, actually.”

“You _could_ say?” Harry growled. “I don’t give a toss about what you _could_ say … I’m fucking sick of trading in _coulds, and mights and maybes_ with you! Be explicit with me. You owe me that much.”

Dumbledore looked sadly at Harry, guilt etched into every wrinkle. “You are very right, Harry. You have shown admirable restraint around me, considering how I have dealt with you at times. You are a better man than me.”

“I think that’s a given at this point,” Harry huffed. “But I’m not interested in entering into a _wand-measuring_ contest with you right now. Tell me what in the name of Merlin is going on! And try the truth for once.”

Dumbledore sat wearily behind his desk and considered Harry in the gathering gloom.

“I have been contacted by Dolores Umbridge, as I’m sure you gathered,” Dumbledore began. “The re-structuring of the Magical Government is entering its final stages. Madame Umbridge is to be installed as the new _First Minister_ , essentially leading the Government in its day-to-day responsibilities.

“And she has invited _me_ to become _Second Minister_ … and I have accepted.”

“You _what_?!!” Harry thundered. “Why?”

“Because, Harry, don’t you see?” Dumbledore implored. “By being part of the new Government I will have actual _influence_ … I will be able to exert a level of control and - hopefully - restraint against the machinations of the NMO. I can be more effective there than I can be here.”

“And what about protecting the children?” Harry spat. “What about _us_? The ones you’re leaving behind?”

"You will have a new Director of Education installed in my place."

"And who will that be?"

"It is my understanding that Percival Weasley will be _in situ_ as the new Chief Educator of Hogwarts," Dumbledore replied lowly.

"Percy Weasley! Are you taking the _actual_ piss?!!" Harry cried. "You're leaving us to _him_! There will be uproar! Chaos! How are we supposed to help the needy and vulnerable?"

Dumbledore sighed weightily. “Harry, I think we can both agree that those students now left at Hogwarts neither need - nor in many cases _want -_ our help. But I may be able to do something for those students who have already gone missing. If I can find where they have been taken, perhaps they can still be rescued … before it becomes too late for them.”

“I don’t believe I’m hearing this,” Harry riled. “You cant honestly think that you will able to change the warped racial ideology of pricks like Umbridge and Voldemort. Speaking of that snake-whisperer, where does _he_ fit into this new structure? What’s his job? Minister of Wankery?”

“Harry …”

“Dont you _dare_ tell me off for bad language!” Harry roared. “Just answer the question.”

“Tom Riddle will be installed to the new office of _President_ … or _Magical Premier_. He hasn’t yet decided which title to use.”

“Talk about _first-world problems_ ,” Harry scythed sarcastically.

“Think of the benefits, Harry,” Dumbledore insisted. “Once I am in White City I will be able to gain direct access to Voldemort, and gather intelligence of his activities first-hand. That will allow us to pro-actively strategise and do what we can to undermine his efforts.”

“And who is going to carry out all this sabotage?” Harry cried. “You’ll be in your cushy little office, stroking Fawkes and massaging Voldemort’s bald-headed narcissism. Who will you enlist this time? Regulus? Lupin? Stan pissing Shunpike?”

“Well, my first choice, actually, was _you_.”

Dumbledore let the quiet words hang in the silent air. Harry let them too, both thrown and tempted by the declaration.

“Me? What do you want me to do?” Harry breathed lowly, his chest heaving as he waited for the reply.

“The time has long passed, Harry, where I can tell you what to do,” Dumbledore answered. “You have shown, increasingly, that you are your own man, capable of making your own decisions. I trust you do to that. All I can do now is give you the information, point you in the right directions, then leave the details of how to act in your confident hands.”

Harry felt a swell of pride, in spite of his bubbling anger and confusion. Dumbledore knew how to play him like a lute.

“So, how will we proceed with this?” Harry asked, unable to mask his burst of eagerness.

“I want you to set up a clandestine body, a private action force if you will,” Dumbledore instructed. “You can then use your admirable Ratway to pass information, to spirit people away, to travel in secret when you need to. I will turn over to you all my connections to the people at the top of Brompton Road and what remains of the Order of the Phoenix. Use those contacts for recruitment and assistance.

“Let us call this new body _The Special Operations Executive_. S.O.E, perhaps, for short?”

“S.O.E,” Harry parroted, borderline star-struck already. “And what is our mission brief?”

“Simple,” Dumbledore replied with twinkling eyes. “I want you to set Magical Britain ablaze.” 


	26. The Final Withdrawal

Brompton Road tube station was like something from a different era. The faded cream and burgundy tiles at platform level would lead up to the terracotta-coloured surface level building in classic Leslie Green style. The basic colour scheme, which was designed to help illiterate Londoners navigate their way around the underground network, was in stark contrast to the hugely modern cathedral-like stations at Canary Wharf and the like.

But Hermione felt it was far more suited to the magical world, and the clandestine operation that it was a front for.

Regulus Black led Hermione from the platform, past the converted station office - which was now a Floo Network Listening post - and up the escalator towards the old ticket hall. This too had been altered. On one side were a number of cages, containing disgruntled-looking owls, ones who had been intercepted mid-flight and were in the process of having their cargo checked over. On the opposite wall were a set of hourglasses not too dissimilar to the one which recorded the house points at Hogwarts.

“What are they for?” Hermione queried as they passed.

“Apparition Trackers,” Regulus explained. “Every magical person has their own magical signature, sort of like a fingerprint, if you like. In the same way that a small trace of residual magic from a witch or wizard can be detected following spell casting, Apparition leaves a similar imprint behind. St Mungo’s makes note of this personal signature as part of their birthing records, but all magical families who own House-Elves are required to register _them_ , too.

“The Auror Office and DMLE have the capacity to track Apparition as part of their duties in law enforcement. Luckily for us, Amelia Bones is a prominent member of Brompton Road and helped us set up an identical tracking system here. So all we have to do is target people we are monitoring, and their House-Elves if necessary, to see where they are going.”

“And the official bodies do the same?” Hermione asked. “Is … is that why Harry hasn’t sent Dobby to me? They know he’s volunteered himself into Harry’s service, don’t they?”

Regulus nodded darkly. “Albus had to register Dobby as Harry Potter’s elf … to stop the authorities pursuing him.”

“Excuse me!” Hermione cried angrily, rounding on Regulus. “What do you mean _pursuing him_?”

“House-elves are powerful creatures, Miss Granger,” Regulus replied. “Some wizards fear them, you know, and the idea of elves running around freely is abhorrent to such people. In fact, there are even those who advocate the complete corralling of _all_ non-human magical beings. I believe you must have come across Dolores Umbridge, from her time at Hogwarts? She has been championing such changes to the law for years.”

Hermione felt a wave of sickness rise into her throat at the mere _mention_ of _that_ toad. Her unspeakable activities only made that bile sting a bit more sharply on Hermione's tonsils.

“But Dobby told me that elves _need_ to be around humans, to renew themselves to survive,” Hermione frowned. “If bitches like Umbridge wanted elves to die, why not just let them roam free?”

Regulus quirked a smirk at Hermione. “You didn’t strike me as the type to be quite so pig-headed and arrogant, Miss Granger.”

“Excuse me?” Hermione huffed back.

“You are excused,” Regulus snickered. “Because you are as ignorant as most humans.”

“Can you please explain these insults … before I hex you for them!”

Regulus laughed deeply. “Your suggestion, Miss Granger, is that elves - and any _other_ magical creature by proxy - are dependent on us humans to survive. I assure you that you are quite, quite wrong about that.”

“But Dobby said he chose to be around Harry, to renew himself!” Hermione argued hotly, greatly offended not only by Regulus’ insult but by the possibility that he might be right.

“What Dobby was revealing was simply the genius of the elves,” Regulus explained patiently. “We humans _destroyed_ their homes, their habitats. To survive, they attached themselves to us to keep their magic strong. They began using humans as _batteries_. And they had an inexhaustible supply. We are only fortunate that they are benign beings. Had they been violent and malicious, they could wipe us out before we even had chance to respond.”

“But why don’t they just strike out and forge new habitats?” Hermione asked.

“Because the magical world has gotten used to having its slave-culture,” Regulus replied, darkly. “And they aren’t about to give it up without a revolution. The bond between wizard and elf can be hugely rewarding and fulfilling, for both of them. But some unscrupulous souls have abused the amiable Elfish nature … have turned those _bonds_ into _binds_. And it is not in Elfish nature to rebel … they are docile … and they have been _bred_ to be that way.”

Hermione gasped as the horror of the understanding settled on her. “Is … is this _Horizon_ again?”

“No, but it could be considered a sister project,” Regulus returned. “Or even a _parent_ one … for it has been in existence for far, far longer.”

“So, the Elves cant rebel - or wont - because wizards have bred the notion out of them?” Hermione pondered in a near-whisper. “It keeps them in line, doesn’t it?”

Regulus nodded. “And any elf who _does_ show a strain of independent or resistive thought is ostracised and marginalised. And the dark cleverness here is that it is the culture _wizards_ have cultivated among the elves that does the damage. Other _elves_ turn the offending elf into a sort of pariah - and do all they can to omit them from their community and company.”

“Forcing them into the wild … where they simply die!” Hermione hushed.

“Or become an easy target for a special branch of Hit Wizards, who are employed for just that sort of purpose.”

“I think I want to be sick,” Hermione groaned, clutching at her throat. “That’s horrible, Mr Black.”

“Please use my assumed name once we are out of the safety of the station,” Regulus whispered urgently. Hermione nodded by way of apology. “As I was saying, magical creatures need only a source of _natural_ magic to renew themselves. Humans were just the easiest resource for the elves to tap ... in their desperation to avoid _extinction_. But we have a warren of wild elves back at the Halcyon Gardens. I’ll take you to meet them, if you like.”

“Oh, will you?” Hermione cried, brightening up. “I’d really like that! I’m just terribly worried about all that I don’t know … I was on the verge of summoning Dobby myself! And he would have revealed the location of the estate if he’d come!”

“No, that wouldn’t have happened,” Regulus soothed. “The Gardens are protected by ancient Celtic magic. A House-elf would have had no more chance of locating it than a wizard. If Dobby had tried, the magic protecting the estate would have simply returned him to his original location. In any case, Albus wouldn’t have allowed Dobby to be used in that way, had I granted him permission to come and go. He is too well known as Harry Potter’s elf … the level of monitoring on _both_ of them is off the chart!”

“It is?” Hermione breathed, slightly overwhelmed.

“Of course,” Regulus revealed. “We know that there are at least three students at Hogwarts that the GR had enlisted to track Harry’s every move … and one _Professor_ that we are certain of. They even coerced one of the Hogwarts elves to shadow Dobby.”

“How do _you_ know all this?”

“Because,” Regulus began with a smirk. “We are _also_ intently monitoring Harry … as well as those who are _tracking him_. That is why I wanted to come here. I have to speak to some of my contacts, just to confirm what you said about Dumbledore.”

“But what if he got to them, too?” Hermione argued. “To cover all his tracks?”

Regulus pondered that with a fraught expression. “If _that_ was true then his deception goes deeper than either of us could imagine. Wait here … and put this on.”

Regulus reached into his cloak and handed Hermione a flowing, silvery garment. She looked at it and lost her breath.

“An _Invisibility Cloak_!” she hushed.

“Yes,” Regulus replied. “It belonged to my brother. His prankster friend, James, used to have one, so Sirius bullied our father for his own. It isn’t quite as refined as James’ was, but they used it to play all sorts of tricks on me when we were younger. At least I get to put it to good use now.”

“W-why do I need to be invisible?” Hermione stuttered out, as the worrying thought occurred to her.

Regulus looked at her seriously. “Because … you’re on a _Most Wanted_ list, Miss Granger. Half of the Aurors in England are looking for you! Being Harry Potter’s girlfriend is a dangerous hobby, didn’t you know?”

* * *

Harry looked at the brick wall in front of him, still holding the ornate picture frame in his other hand. His frown was matched only by that of Minerva, who had walked into the brickwork and was now busy repairing the cracked lens of her glasses.

Clearly, neither of them had expected this wall to be there.

“What’s happened to the passage?” Harry asked. “Why has it closed up?”

“We can only assume that Gringotts has been compromised,” Minerva replied, bitterly. “Arngor did tell me about this emergency feature. That if anything happened at the bank that made it unsafe, all passages out of it would automatically be destroyed.”

“Well that’s a ballache,” Harry fumed. “I was relying on this to get us to London undetected.”

“So, we cant travel by Floo, we don’t have Apparition licences, and the Hogwarts Express has been commandeered by the Grey Robes for reasons unknown, but that we can guess will suck dragon eggs,” Neville grumbled. “You’ll be swimming to London at this rate, Lion-born.”

Harry turned his scowl on Neville. “If you call me that again I’m going to kick you right up the arse! I love Luna, but I might have to garrotte her for that!”

Just then, the girl herself entered the room. “I’ve come to keep watch,” she announced brightly. Then she hitched a puzzled look onto her face as she clocked them all standing there. “Shouldn’t you be in Gringotts by now?”

“Yeah, but we have a slight drawback,” Harry replied bitterly. “There’s a brick wall in our way.”

“Oh, that is a problem.”

“Yep, its put a crimp in an otherwise damn fine plan,” Neville agreed with a smirk. “And what _was_ the plan again, Harry?”

“Get out of Hogwarts, get to London, then use my other house-elf to somehow get in touch with the wizard looking after Hermione,” Harry clarified.

“Off to a positive start then!” Neville teased.

“We could try breaking the wall down with a battering ram,” Harry frowned. “What we need is something firm, about six feet long with a flat top. Hey - your head might do, Nev? Fancy giving it a go?”

Neville guffawed back at him as Harry tried to suppress his own grin.

“What about flying to London? Like we did last year?” Luna offered.

Harry felt the chill of the memory sweep over him as he remembered the outcome of _that_ jaunt. It was enough to make the decision not to tempt fate at a stroke.

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Harry replied. “Besides, it was months ago now that Voldemort recruited Charlie Weasley to head up his Air Division. For all we know there could be an armada of dragons and airborne wizards policing the assigned broom-flight corridors night and day.”

“Another method of transport bites the dust,” Neville moaned. “Get your budgie-smugglers and inflatable armbands, Harry. There aren’t many more options left.”

Harry wanted to agree, but Neville was pretty much right. There was only one thing Harry could think of

“Minerva … Brompton Road,” Harry began. “The tube station connects to the regular London Underground, but Dumbledore said that it also goes all over the country.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Minerva confirmed.

“And it operates on a similar principle to the Knight Bus,” Harry went on.

Minerva nodded in the affirmative. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m wondering if it comes here … this far North,” Harry revealed. “And where the closest point is that we could get on to it.”

“That could work,” Minerva considered. “Now that Albus has essentially installed you as the Head of the organisation. The train will come at your command.”

“Well, do you know where the station is?”

“Yes!” Minerva cried excitedly. “And it is _very_ close. It was built for temporary use, and hasn’t been needed in about, ooh, seven years, but it should still be there.”

“Seven years?” Harry queried. “What was it last used for?”

Minerva smiled with twinkling eyes. “To transport the pieces of a giant chess set - and a huge genus of Devil’s Snare - into underground chambers beneath Hogwarts. I think you know the way to access it from _this_ side of the school, if you remember the way!”

Harry beamed widely. “Come on, Team Potterites! To the Third Floor corridor we go!”

* * *

Hermione was transferred between the firm embrace of her father, and the crushing bear hug of her mother and back again. Tears flowed, palpable relief was shared by all, then Regulus made them all a vat of tea to calm their rolling nerves.

That was when the true depth of everything hit Hermione square in the chest.

For there, piled up at the side of the drawing room, were both her and Harry’s Hogwarts trunks. Hermione put down her tea and hurried over to them, before she began ransacking her assorted possessions.

“What is this? Why is all my stuff here?”

She snapped her head to her parents, her blazing look demanding answers.

“Harry’s elf brought them here a few days ago,” Catrin Granger explained. “Something was going on at the school. The possessions of - what sort of witch are you? Ah yes, Muggleborns - were being confiscated. But Harry wouldn’t allow that, so sent them here for safe-keeping.”

Hermione sucked in a breath, suddenly overcome with emotion. Her heart was hammering fiercely under her ribs. For even though she’d been absolutely certain of the falsehood, to hear her parents confirm it swelled her with such love that she was left light-headed with it.

 _Harry was alive_! He hadn’t been killed by the Grey Robes. She’d never been so pleased to call someone as filthy a liar as she did Dumbledore in that moment … or at least she _would_ , once she’d remembered how to breathe properly again.

“This is disturbing news, regarding Hogwarts,” Regulus breathed. “Things must be worse than I imagined.”

He put down his tea and stood up, fastening his travelling cloak as he did so.

“Are you going somewhere?” asked Hermione.

“I need answers,” Regulus replied. “Dumbledore has lied to me, has attempted to hoodwink the entire of Brompton Road. And now Hogwarts has been compromised to the point that Muggleborns are being stripped of their possessions. I have to find out how far things have gotten, how they have become so bad ... and why in the name of Merlin Albus is just standing by and letting it happen. 

“You are safe here. I will leave you for a few hours. I’m sure you want to have some privacy with your parents in any case. Whatever you do, don’t leave the house.”

“I wont,” Hermione swore faithfully.

Regulus nodded, then swept from the room. Hermione turned anxiously to her parents.

“Did … did Dobby say how Harry was?” she enquired firmly. “I need to know.”

“He was fine, if a little angry,” David Granger replied. "That little elf did tell us that much."

“I can only imagine!” Hermione replied, beaming widely and massaging her heart, which was still beating happily and furiously at all her pulse points.

“What is it, honey?” asked Catrin. “You look on the verge of a heart attack.”

“It’s nothing … I’m just a little overwhelmed, that’s all,” Hermione explained. “You see, Professor Dumbledore lied to me. He told me … told me … tried to get Lord Roth, there, to convince me that … that Harry had … _died_.”

Even saying the words cut to Hermione like a scythe. She had to choke back a rasping sob as it caught in her throat. Catrin now clutched at her own heart … and David spat out a vicious insult, one that rhymed with _blunt,_ and was delivered in that sort of tone.

“He did _what_?” David stabbed.

“Why would he do that?” Catrin added. “He always seems such a nice man.”

“Oh, he can be, if he thinks it’s worth his while,” Hermione sniped darkly. “It makes me shudder to think why he would want _you_ onside, though … but then again, he did help set up _Project Horizon_. Maybe that’s something to do with it.”

Colour drained from _both_ her parents at Hermione’s declaration.

“Dumbledore … was part of _that_?” Catrin whispered.

“Yes,” Hermione nodded. “A major part. Lord Roth was one of the test subjects. He can tell you all about it … he must have forgotten something … because I’m sure I just heard the front door open again …”

And she had, but it wasn’t Lord Roth who entered the drawing room a few moments later …

* * *

Harry was still thinking about _Hooch and Hardbroom’s_ _Magical Flight Centre -_ or, as it was more commonly known, _The Big Blue Tent_ \- when the assault happened. His mind was fixated on the sky blue aerodrome at the very end of Fizzick Alley. It was huge, and had moving images of witches and wizards zooming about on brooms, of synchronised flight displays and, of course, Quidditch moves being practised. It was the first thing Harry had seen after getting off the underground train from Hogwarts, and he really missed magical flight as soon as he saw it in action.

And so he was a little distracted as he entered the drawing room of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place … and taken by surprise as a familiar chestnut-haired girl suddenly launched herself at him with as much force as any locomotive could ever manage.

 _“Harry!_ ”

Harry was so fundamentally shocked to see Hermione - let alone to hear her impassion shriek of his name - that his first instinct was to shrug her off with some force, just to make sure it was really her. This just made her laugh and weep at the same time, and she mustered up more of her strength and pounced on him again. This time, she knocked him over the back of one the squashy sofas on that side of the room.

Which was handy, as it allowed Hermione to pin Harry bodily to the floor with all her weight and kiss him repeatedly, as if the habit were going out of fashion.

Harry, for his part, was glad that the sofa was blocking the display from her parents, who he could hear laughing from their seats near the hearth.

“I’ve missed - _kiss, kiss_ \- you! I’ve missed - _mwah, mwah_ \- you _so_ much!” Hermione breathed, through peppering her lips to every part of Harry’s face she could reach. “Never leave me - _mwah -_ like that again - _mwah!”_

“I promise, I wont,” Harry replied back, capturing Hermione’s mouth with his own when she was kissing that part of his skin. “I love you. I’m sorry I sent you away. I love you, Hermione.”

Hermione snapped her head up and scowled at him playfully. “Hey - you don’t get to say it first! That’s cheating!”

“Well, your lips were a little busy,” Harry grinned back. “And I don’t remember giving you permission to stop!”

Hermione laughed and placed another raft of kisses to Harry’s mouth, which was swelling from the pressure. Eventually, they broke apart and just held each other tightly a moment.

“Perhaps we should get up,” Harry whispered into her hair. “Your parents are watching.”

“Let them watch,” Hermione breathed back. “I’ve missed you so much I don’t care if they watch us _having sex_ at this point!”

Harry laughed and squeezed Hermione tight to him. He knew what she meant … even though he _hoped_ she was just lost in the moment and exaggerating. Just then, Minerva coughed pointedly above them. That was Hermione’s cue to ease herself up from Harry’s embrace.

“Professor,” Hermione began, flushing deeply. “I didn’t know Harry had brought company.”

“And I didn’t know you could kiss like a porn star!” Neville joked, stepping out from behind Minerva.

“Nev, Hermione’s parents are here!” Harry hissed as he regained his feet.

“Yes and we saw it all!” David laughed.

“Or, at least, we _heard_ it!” Catrin grinned. “The pitter-patter of tiny lips at any rate!”

“ _Mother_!” Hermione admonished in a scandalised tone.

But none of them were in the slightest bit abashed. For Harry and Hermione had fallen into an arm-in-arm pose as though it were the most natural thing in the world - his around her waist, hers a little higher up just beneath his shoulder blades. The little circles Harry’s palm was drawing on the small of Hermione’s back were making her a little hot and flustered, but she rather thought that if he tried to stop she might hex him for the very notion.

They were so close they were practically fused at the hip. But it was just _right_ for the both of them, the place that both should be. This being apart nonsense was just that … utter nonsense. And in that moment - as though they were sharing thoughts as well as personal body space - they both decided that they couldn’t separate ever again.

So something had to be done about that. And it was Luna who provided the obvious solution

“Hello Hermione,” she chirped sweetly. “How’s Celesca?”

“She was very well when I saw her yesterday, but I’m sure she misses you like crazy,” Hermione answered.

Luna blushed to the roots of her hair. “I’m sure she does, if she feels anything like _I_ do. Can I ask you something? It’s quite a big favour.”

“Ask away.”

“Can you take me back with you, when you go?” Luna asked cautiously. “Hogwarts isn’t safe anymore and I’m not happy there now. And I miss Celesca more than I can explain. Please, don’t make me go back to Scotland.”

It was Harry who answered. “None of us are going back.”

Hermione snapped her head to him. “What? You’re _leaving_ Hogwarts?”

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed. “I think my time in formalised education has come to an end.”

“Mine too,” Neville agreed enthusiastically. “I’m coming to. Maybe me and Enola can … you know … make some magic in nature!”

Harry and Hermione laughed at that. Minerva was a little less impressed.

“But where will you go?” she asked.

“I own a huge swathe of land in South Wales,” Harry revealed. “I inherited it when my godfather’s estate passed to me. I think it’s time I claimed it.”

“Harry!” Hermione cried excitedly. “Lord Roth’s estate is in Wales! I’m sure he can help you find the land of your fathers.”

“You do know who Lord Roth _is,_ don’t you?” Harry queried.

Hermione nodded. “But we cant use that name in the wider world. It’s too dangerous.”

“I can see you haven’t stopped learning in our time apart,” Harry teased. “What else have you found out?”

“Nothing much,” Hermione replied with a little smile. “Oh, apart from the location of your mother’s _Alchemist’s Cell,_ of course!”

She let her matter-of-fact tone rock Harry’s foundations a moment before bursting out in laughter.

“You should _see_ your face!” Hermione teased. “It’s a picture!”

“You … found the Cell?” Harry breathed. “How?”

“Because it’s not a _place_ , as such. Not one you can plot at any rate,” Hermione began.

Then she turned to face Harry fully, placing his hand over her heart, and mimicking the action with her own palm on his chest. Harry tried not to let his body react inappropriately to the fact that he was touching Hermione’s breasts. He was reasonably confident that her parents wouldn’t overlook _that_ particular indiscretion.

“The Cell is nowhere, yet it can be _everywhere_ and anywhere,” Hermione began in a reverent whisper. “But the way we get into it is always the same. And it’s via _these_.”

Hermione pressed her hand hard against Harry’s sternum, and closed a fist around his own palm as she squeezed his digits tight into her warm flesh, against her throbbing heart, which did nothing to stop the tide of blood rushing below his belt-line.

“I’m not sure I get that,” Harry hushed back.

“I know, but I’ll show you everything, I promise,” Hermione breathed. “I think I understand now. I’ll explain it all. Trust me. You’re safe now, this wont hurt you, nothing will … I wont let anything hurt you ever again. And I’ll have to answer to your mother if I do!”

“You … you’ve _seen_ my mother!”

“Seen and _spoken to_ ,” Hermione confirmed. “In fact, part of my coming to London was to try and find a way to do that easier.”

“How?” Harry queried.

“I … er … hadn’t gotten that far,” Hermione confessed. “I was just, sort of, winging it.”

“Harry - what about your cloak?” Neville suddenly piped up. “Didn’t you say it contained a part of your Mum somehow?”

“What!” Hermione breathed. “Harry? Is that right? Is that cloak a … a _Horcrux?_ ”

Harry nodded in confirmation. “It was the Standard of Gryffindor. Voldemort was going to use it for _his_ last Horcrux, but when my mother thwarted his attempt to kill me, _her soul_ took it in his place. That’s how I was able to hear her. She connected to me through it.”

“Then we have to get it!” Hermione cried. “We can access her Cell _anywhere_ with a connection like that! Er, honey … where _is_ the Cloak?”

“It’s in my Gringotts vault.”

“Harry? I thought we decided that Gringotts had been compromised? Wasn’t that why we took the special train to get here?”

Luna had pointed out the blatant truth, as was her way. Harry slapped his head in his stupidity. Hermione came to her senses first.

“A train? You came here by train?” she asked Harry.

“Yeah. I’m the Head of a group called Brompton Road now. I’ve been busy too, you know!”

“Brompton Road! But that’s how _I_ got here!” Hermione whooped. “That’s great news, Harry!”

“It is?” Harry replied, scratching his head. “Why?”

“Because it gives us access to our Ratway … and a way to escape,” Hermione grinned. Then she took charge. “Right … Mum, Dad pack your things. We’re leaving. Professor McGonagall, can you help them with magic, please? And before you _think_ about arguing, you’re coming with us. End of story.”

Minerva opened her mouth to argue, then decided against the idea after seeing Hermione’s expression was sterner than her own. She was _out-frowned_ on the issue.

“Luna, Nev, you go and find Harry’s house-elf, Kreacher,” Hermione bossed. “Tell him the situation and send him to get Dobby and bring him back here. Tell him to be discreet.”

“And what about me?” Harry quirked.

Hermione turned to him with the steeliest expression of them all. “You and I are heading to Gringotts. I have an Invisibility Cloak now, so get yours out and lets go. We have a Final Withdrawal to make from the bank. Then we can all get the hell out of here!”

* * *

 ** **Author Note:**** Hey everyone, I hope you’ve enjoyed the recent updates and the story in general. I’d like to thank everyone who has taken the time to like/favourite/give kudos etc (all depending on where you’re reading this!) throughout this story and for supporting me in the writing of it. It’s always great to get positive feedback and thankfully the overwhelming response has been good, so thank you very much.

As of now, I feel this is the right time to bring this story to an end. As a Sixth Year fic I think it’s a natural finish point. The confrontation and resolution of the bigger story arcs are enough for an entirely new standalone fic, and as this story is already over 180k words in length it’s getting a bit too long now to keep dragging out.

So this brings _Alchemist’s Cell_ to a conclusion in my mind. Look out for the upcoming sequel titled 'The Red Elixir'.

xx


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